<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>no more and no less by sarsoor</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753958">no more and no less</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarsoor/pseuds/sarsoor'>sarsoor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Percy Jackson and the Olympians &amp; Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chronic Pain, F/F, F/M, Olympics AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Speech Disorders, Sports injuries, Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), because I said so, broca's aphasia, however it's not sad!!! there will be fluff i promise, i am not known for light and breezy i will admit this, i will warn you when i say the burn is slow i mean it, once again i do not know how to rate this but i will warn you as we go, plus-sized annabeth, sorry these tags look bleak but i promise it's really not bad, there's an OC in here but not an OC i have developed at all we're gonna figure it out together</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:06:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>127,857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarsoor/pseuds/sarsoor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I simply cannot think of a summary so have my list of reasons I wanted to write this story instead:<br/>1. I wanted to write about a character with neurological damage who is living their life normally and happily (and unhappily sometimes, and angrily and joyfully and everything in between—the human experience is vast and complex and having a disability does not change that).<br/>2. I saw a drawing of plus-sized Annabeth from cryptidw00rm on tumblr and now I Cannot Unsee. She is so damn perfect and I am in love with her. We’re writing plus-sized Annabeth or we’re never putting pen to paper again.<br/>3. I cannot stop thinking about Clareyna. My god, it is so good. I am never going to stop loving them together. They will live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Clarisse La Rue/Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace (background)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello there! Thank you for giving my story a chance! I have no impulse control and posted this story as soon as I finished the first chapter. There is POV switching between Percy and Annabeth here but you'll be able to tell who's who.<br/>Before we begin I want to clarify a few things about what Percy is struggling with.<br/>Percy has Broca’s Aphasia. The first chapter never explicitly names it, but it discusses Percy’s life dealing with it. Broca’s Aphasia happens as the result of either a stroke or traumatic brain injury (TBI) and it’s basically a loss of speech due to damage in the area of the brain where we formulate speech. There are varying levels of severity and it presents differently in everyone, but the main issue is the same: speech formation becomes incredibly difficult, some ability to use grammar is lost (depending on the person it could be more or less severe), speech becomes stilted or halting, and writing becomes difficult or is lost as well. You can learn more about it here: https://tactustherapy.com/brocas-aphasia-nonfluent-video/<br/>I think it's important to note that I obviously do not struggle with this disorder. I want to do my best to present it in a way that’s honest and realistic, and I hope that in writing this story I will be able to do that.<br/>The story's title is taken from the poem No More and No Less by Mahmoud Darwish<br/>Happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy wakes up to the early morning light falling across his eyes, the crack between his curtains betraying him. He takes a few moments to breathe, shuts his eyes again and prepares himself, flexes his left fist, then his right. Shaky. A bit weak. But he's only just woken up, and he doesn’t have the energy to concentrate as much as he needs to. He rolls onto his left side and shoots back when his nose is met with a mass of hair, his heart racing as he yells out in fear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nearly falls off the bed, catches himself, then remembers, far too late, why there is another person in his bed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel groans and rolls over, rubbing at her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, why?” she complains, and he exhales heavily and falls back onto his pillow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just whines and shoves his face into her shoulder and she sighs heavily as she runs her fingers through his curls.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How do you always forget when I stay over?” she says, and he smiles a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tired,” he tells her, and she pinches his neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well you woke me up, bitch, so now you owe me breakfast and all the coffee you have in this place.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lifts his right arm, offering her his hand, and they shake on it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Little weak,” she mutters, and he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“’M tired,” he repeats, and she sighs again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Time to wake up, then. Get the blood flowing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He groans and she shoves him off of her and he groans once more. He is being difficult, he knows, but it is far too early to be forcing himself out of bed, and she is far too awake for his level of exhaustion. She pulls him up to sitting by both hands, and when he refuses to swing his legs over the edge of his bed she glares at him with her hands on her hips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy Jackson I am <em>not</em> doing this with you right now,” she says, and he pouts. “Fuck this. I’m leaving. Get fired for all I care.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She starts to leave the room, grabbing her toothbrush off the nightstand, and he calls out to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“W-wait,” he pleads, and she turns back around, narrows her eyes at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubs at his face, the word he wanted to say shot clear out of his mind. He really, really needs to wake up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Food,” he says instead, and she continues to stare him down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get up, then, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs a bit and she nearly smiles as he moves his legs over the edge of his bed, braces himself to stand. He’s alright. He can stand. Today will be a good day, he decides. And once he’s washed his face and brushed the taste of garbage out of his mouth, he will be able to speak in full sentences, too. No more forgotten words.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the goal for today?” Hazel asks him as they step into his little bathroom, and he squeezes out some toothpaste for her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mm,” he hums, thinking. “No—s-st-st—” He huffs out a breath. “Ffffffuck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gets stuck on the f for a while, pushing the sound out in a constant string, but once he gets it Hazel laughs brightly, and the part of him that wants to get frustrated and give up crumbles to dust. He smiles along with her, starts brushing, and they share the quiet together, the only sounds being the bristles scrubbing against their teeth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">These are his favorite times of the day. When they can just <em>be</em> together, no words necessary. He needs to speak, he knows, he needs to practice. But sometimes he needs quiet, needs to be able to spend time with the people he loves without the burden of his heavy tongue, his stubborn lips. It used to be so easy. It should still be easy. But a force greater than he can comprehend is at play here, an evil fucking beast of a creature that he sometimes thinks he will never be able to beat: his own brain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was so much worse, in the beginning. Remembering it makes him feel a sour sickness in the pit of his stomach, an aching regret in his chest. He does his best not to think about it now. But it lingers, creeps in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A bright light and rough sheets and faces, too many faces, poking and prodding and talking at once. Confusion and the smell of antiseptic burning his nostrils and a pounding in his skull that he was sure might kill him. <em>Pool</em>. A word repeated, over and over, the only one his mouth could form, no matter how hard he tried to say something, anything else. Grim recognition, flat lines for mouths, pitifully soft eyes, hands off. A right arm that could not be lifted no matter how hard he tried, trembling, shaking, screaming for help, and fear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was so much fear. He had never felt so afraid in his life. He had tried to ask what the fuck was going on, tried to understand, but the voices he heard were muffled and none of the words made any sense to him and he could not breathe for the life of him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Hazel catches his arm, circles her small hands around both of his wrists. She holds his eyes with hers, firmly, words abandoned. All he needs is that look. A steady pressure squeezing him down to the bone. He is safe here. He knows what has happened. He is safe. He sees the message in her eyes, written all over her face. There is nothing to be afraid of, anymore. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rinses his mouth and splashes cold water on his face, to wake himself up, to ground him once more. Hazel is still giving him that look, though, and he wants to reassure her, so he rubs wet his cheek against her dry one and she groans and shoves him off of her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gross boy,” she says, and he smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She glares at him while she dries off her face, but the longer he smiles at her the harder it becomes for her to stay mad. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t look at me like that,” she demands, but the corners of her mouth are already turning upwards. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He continues to look at her like that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, enough!” she laughs, and he kisses the top of her head and guides her towards the kitchen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make quick work of breakfast after that. Hazel goes straight for the coffee, Percy grabs the eggs from the fridge and heats up a pan and they work together, move around each other effortlessly. They’ve done this enough now that they know exactly what the other person needs—Hazel grabs Percy the seasoning, throws him a jar of <em>zaatar</em> with a pointed look. He gets the mugs from the tall top shelf she cannot reach, grabs the creamer for her as he gets the olive oil from above the fridge. Before they know it breakfast is ready, eggs and Percy’s mother’s bread and coffee and tea and they sit at his tiny table together, so small that his knees knock into hers despite the fact that they are on opposite sides of it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Long commute today,” she says, and he sighs heavily and nods as he sips his tea.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Same as always,” he responds with a shrug, and she scrunches up her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know how you do it, Perce. I wouldn’t be able to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He makes a face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No choice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She frowns. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s bullshit. You should be able to live where you want to live. You’re a grown man. It’s been nearly three years.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows, takes a deep breath. Everything she is saying is true, and he knows this. But he also knows that the last time he decided to move closer to work he ended up back in the hospital, with his family and friends so shaken and so anxious that they went back to treating him the way they did when he first woke up. Fragile, dependent, weak. He couldn’t stand another second of it, could not bear going back to the way things were before, so he made a concession: he would live around the corner from his mother if everyone would stop treating him like a child. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now, four days a week, he wakes up at the asscrack of dawn, drags himself to Grand Central Station, and spends three and a half hours on the LIRR until he reaches the rescue center. It’s not ideal, and it drains him like nothing else, but he would rather be tired on a train than feel the heaviness of the anger and annoyance that weighs him down every time his mother frets over him. He cannot bear to feel that way towards anyone he loves—so he commutes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As they shove on their shoes, ready to leave his tiny apartment, Hazel gasps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Piper’s party is this Friday,” she says, squeezing his forearm. “We’re going, obviously.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He makes a face and she gives him a look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, you promised her,” she tells him, as if he doesn’t know this already.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Parties suck,” he complains. “New people—I don’t want it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well too bad, bitch, because it’s happening,” she tells him as she shoves his hat on his head. “We’ll spray you with vodka or something and that way people will just think you’re really drunk and they won’t ask you to explain your tragic life story.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs hard at that, from his belly, and she grins widely as they head outside together. Once they reach the corner of 2nd Ave they say their goodbyes, Percy smacking a kiss onto his best friend’s forehead, Hazel squeezing his cheeks with both hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See you tonight?” she says, and when he nods she slaps his face between her hands and turns on her heel.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The three and a half hour commute is, expectedly, a fucking nightmare. Most days Percy is fine as long as he has his headphones and a charger, so he can listen to music and look out the train window dramatically, pretending he is in a music video. The other great thing is that most people traveling between Long Island and Manhattan are coming <em>into </em>the city, not out of it, so Percy hardly ever worries about being able to find a seat on the train or being stuck in a crowded car.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His position is a strange one—handicapped, but only just so, sometimes more severely than others. On top of that, he doesn’t exactly look the part since he doesn’t use crutches or a chair, and if he tried to explain his situation to a stranger his anxiety would likely get the best of him, and he would end up stuttering, or worse—mute. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he is grateful for empty trains and wide seats where he can stretch out his long legs and practice the flex of his hand, the extension of his arm. What he is not grateful for is three and a half hours of an ass so sore from sitting down and a mind so bored and a trip that feels so endless that it makes him want to throw himself into the sea. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It might be more bearable if he was going all the way out to Montauk, so he could at least be near the beach. Riverhead, Long Island isn’t exactly his favorite place in the world, but the things he loves most in the world <em>are </em>there: his animals. Four days a week, after a hellish trek out to the absolute pits, Percy gets to help rescue and rehabilitate a whole host of different marine life, and it is the best thing he could ever imagine for himself. His favorite animals, hands-on work, a group of creatures that will never misunderstand him the way people so often do. It is heaven to him, and even though he can only reach paradise once he travels through hell, the commute becomes worth it the second he steps foot into the rescue center.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There, he has purpose. There, he can put the things he’s learned, everything he struggled so hard for, to good use. He can make a difference, can feel useful, <em>needed</em>. After spending so much time depending on others, having a job where others depend on him is refreshing, enlivening. The sense of fulfillment he feels any time he makes progress with his patients is unlike anything else in the world, akin to the sense of accomplishment he felt the first time he medaled at the Olympics. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That realization used to upset him. It used to shake him to his core, to undo him in a way he could not describe even if he tried. That his simple, domestic life could ever match up to competing in the fucking <em>Olympics</em> felt pathetic, felt like settling. Percy had never been an overachiever per se, but he had always strived to compete against himself, to outdo the person he was the day before. So it felt wrong, allowing himself to feel that sense of accomplishment again, for something so simple as doing his job properly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knows better now, of course. He knows that happiness is not dependent on the earth-shattering, record-breaking, heart-stopping moments, but the quiet and seemingly mundane ones. A steady right hand in the morning, a cup of tea brewed to perfection, a full sentence spoken without error, the splash of a healing tail fin, the sound of his best friends’ laughter, the crackle of his mother’s old record player as she dances around her living room. It’s the collection of these moments, the individual moments themselves, that mean so much more than a gold medal ever could. He is content to find his joy in domestic bliss—it is still bliss, after all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As he walks into the aquarium and watches his favorite humpback swimming lamely in circles, no song to sing, he takes a deep breath and climbs up the steps to reach the top of the tank. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Today, he decides, he will outdo the man he was yesterday. Today, as the creature before him moves silently, aimlessly, he will be the one to sing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This is the moment Annabeth has been waiting for ever since she decided on her new life path. This is the moment she officially becomes an architect, the moment she has dreamed of and reimagined countless times in her head. The moment she walks into her new office and starts heading towards the rest of her life.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it is ruined the second she steps out of the elevator and gets drenched in coffee. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wasn’t <em>entirely</em> the intern’s fault. The elevator doors had opened, Annabeth had braced herself for a head-turning entrance, pushing back her shoulders and holding her head up high. She took one step out without looking to see if anyone was rushing around and was immediately met with the crash of a body and the burn of scalding coffee soaking through her blouse and blazer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she furiously wipes at her shirt in the bathroom, she chides herself for not thinking to bring a change of clothes. She should have been able to foresee this—it is her first day, and she should be prepared for anything. What would her mother have to say, if she could see Annabeth now? She feels like a fucking idiot, and she looks like one too—she hadn’t missed the way everyone in the office stared at the commotion near the elevator and witnessed her mishap in real-time. She wants to hide inside a toilet stall and flush herself down the drain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The feeling only worsens when her new boss enters the bathroom, tall and lean and fucking gorgeous. Of course she is gorgeous. Of course her braid is the perfect amount of messy, falling over her shoulder just so. Of course her dark brown skin is flawless, not a blemish in sight. Of course her rich, brown eyes are the perfect balance of stern and kind. And of course she walked in on Annabeth with her button-down wide open, her bra stained brown from the coffee, her round, dimpled stomach out for the world’s most beautiful woman to see. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wishes she could drop dead on the spot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment they stare at each other, Annabeth wide-eyed, hunched over, her boss with her arms crossed over her chest, amusement dancing in her eyes, in the upward quirk of her lips. Annabeth finally straightens and clears her throat, swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” she greets, her shirt still wide open, and her boss smiles fully now, not bothering to mask her amusement.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello,” she laughs. “Annabeth, I’m assuming.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Unfortunately, you are correct.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her boss’s smile somehow grows even wider as she reaches out her hand for a shake. Annabeth takes it, forgetting that her hand is sticky and covered in coffee, and feels her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she sees her boss’s nose scrunch up distastefully. She takes her hand back immediately.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano,” her boss says, and Annabeth nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” she says. “I mean—I just—your work is incredible, I look up to you. You’re so damn cool.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth flattens her lips together firmly and her boss—thank <em>fuck</em>—laughs again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you,” Reyna says. “I don’t mean to make this any worse, but—you’re still half-naked.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh fuck,” Annabeth mutters and closes her shirt, crossing her arms over herself to keep covered. “I’m so sorry. This is <em>not </em>the first impression I wanted to make today.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s alright,” she says. “You couldn’t have foreseen something like this. How could you have known that our interns are a bunch of dipshits?” Annabeth laughs, then. “Go home. Take a shower. You can start tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth feels herself nearly crumple with gratitude, her chest flooding with relief.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Seriously?” she asks, and Reyna nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Seriously. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. You deserve a redo. I’ll give it to you gladly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth feels her eyes fill with tears of their own accord and she blinks them back, clears her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you so much,” she whispers. “I’m so stupid and you’re the kindest woman alive.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna laughs again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m known to be quite the hard-ass, actually,” she says, and Annabeth knows this too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As if she was going to start her first real job and <em>not </em>do painstaking research on the people above her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you for not being one right now,” Annabeth says. “Tomorrow I will come ready. I will bring my A-game. And a change of clothes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m holding you to that,” Reyna says seriously, and Annabeth nods. Reyna purses her lips. “I don’t know how to tell you this but—the smell is just oppressive. Please leave as soon as you can.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods and begins to button up her shirt frantically, and Reyna leaves her with a shake of the head and a laugh that makes Annabeth want to curl into a ball of shame and roll herself into traffic. She cannot believe what just happened, cannot believe what an utter fool she has made of herself. She absolutely <em>must </em>be on the ball tomorrow, she must make a second impression so spectacular that her boss completely forgets the sight of her bare belly and soiled bra as she worked like crazy to clean herself up. It would be best if Reyna forgot the encounter entirely, but Annabeth has a feeling that she will not be so lucky—she could tell that, despite how considerate and caring Reyna was, she was not to be trifled with. She understands now why her new boss is feared by so many. She is scared shitless herself, and in her vulnerability she at least caught some pity. She cannot imagine what Reyna might be like when Annabeth is put-together; she is terrified to find out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once she’s fully dressed Annabeth makes her way out of the office, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She manages to hide behind someone who is carting the mail around, slips into the elevator without being noticed. As soon as the doors close she slumps down against the wall, her energy sapped out of her. When she gets down to the lobby she brings out her phone and calls her best friend, because she cannot stand to walk around looking the way she does without having something to do with her hands, even if it’s just holding a phone to her ear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper answers on the second ring.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, working bitch,” she greets happily. “Business bitch, architect bitch, boss ass bitch. How’s your first day?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth immediately bursts into tears. Piper starts cursing to herself as Annabeth sputters, sobbing in the middle of Chelsea, covered in coffee. Everything is so impossibly shitty that she cannot bear to keep it in anymore—she is exhausted, and no part of her can deny it any longer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was so—so bad,” she cries. “The elevator and—and—the—the coffee. And my fucking <em>boobs</em>. And the coffee and my—my boss. And the stupid fuckin’ <em>coffee</em>. I hate my life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh boy, there’s just so much to unpack here,” Piper breathes, and Annabeth cries some more. “Where are you, are you white-woman-crying in the street?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods, forgetting Piper can’t see her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am,” she sobs. “I’m white-woman-crying in—in the street.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, this is bad. Send your location. I’m coming to get you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the sleek, black SUV pulls up to the curb where Annabeth sits, wiping away her residual tears, Piper’s head pops out of the back window. She beckons Annabeth forward, and Annabeth climbs in and melts into a pool of shame and despair on the cool leather seat. They sit across from each other as the car heads uptown, and Piper knits her eyebrows in concern.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not <em>so </em>bad,” she tries to reason, and Annabeth gives her a hard look. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She winces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. You look like a fuckin’ mess. But your boss is super chill and super hot, so that helps, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth shuts her eyes and leans her head back onto the seat behind her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wish I was dead,” she says, and Piper kicks her shin hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, shut the fuck up,” Piper demands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper!” she exclaims, rubbing her leg. “That hurt, you fuckin’ beast.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You deserved it. Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. You had a bad day. You got coffee spilled on you and your boss saw your perfect boobs, boohoo. Most people wouldn’t even <em>think </em>about giving you a second chance. You lucked out, dude.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know that,” she says. “Am I not allowed to mourn the loss of my dignity?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure you are. That's why I’m gonna take you home and clean you up, and hopefully by the time we get to your place the groceries I ordered will have arrived.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth raises her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Groceries you say?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ice cream and cookies and the entire snack aisle, basically,” she says, and Annabeth perks up a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Red Vines, too?” she asks, and Piper rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As if I could forget the Red Vines. What am I, an amateur?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth feels her throat constrict and tears start to pool in her eyes once more. She is far too fragile to be loved so deeply right now. It’s making her weak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, it’s okay,” Piper says softly, crossing over to sit next to Annabeth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wraps her arm around Annabeth’s shoulders and squeezes her into her side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry you had such a shitty first day,” Piper mutters, brushing her friend’s curls back from her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry I white-woman-cried in the street and you had to come get me,” Annabeth sniffles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper laughs brightly at that and Annabeth manages to crack a smile. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s alright. Perks of the whole celebrity dad thing—we have a whole fuckin’ driver at our disposal for things just like this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But work, Pipes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper waves her hand dismissively.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My first patient isn’t coming in ’til 12 and I don’t have any meetings today. You’re so fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” Annabeth repeats, and Piper glares at Annabeth until she buries her face in her best friend’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Honestly, fuck this job, you’re a goddamned Olympic gold medalist,” Piper says once they arrive at Annabeth’s building. “So you showed your boss your rack. So what? It’s a phenomenal sight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth rolls her eyes, smiling a bit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We get it, you’re obsessed with me,” Annabeth says, and Piper pumps her eyebrows up and down suggestively. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And here we are heading up to your place,” she says with a wink, and Annabeth laughs as they step onto the elevator.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Someone calls out for them to hold it, so Piper reaches her arm out to stop the doors as Annabeth hits the button for them to close. Piper sends her friend a sharp look and Annabeth frowns. Once the man enters the elevator and thanks them, he stares openly at the mess Annabeth has made of herself. Annabeth is about to speak up when Piper steps in front of her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey asshole, take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she snaps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blanches and turns to face the doors and Annabeth grins widely and kisses the top of Piper’s head. Once they finally reach Annabeth’s apartment, she flings the door open and moves to throw herself onto her couch, but Piper catches her arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shower first,” she says, and Annabeth groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper, please,” she whines, and her friend shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You smell like shit. Go wash up before your whole place starts to stink like sour vanilla creamer.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re so mean to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah, you have a best friend who would kill a man for you, your life is so hard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth turns and smiles at Piper, kisses her forehead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you, Pipes,” she says, and Piper wrinkles her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you love me you will take three steps back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth rolls her eyes and kicks off her shoes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know, I smell like ass, I’m <em>going</em>,” she says, taking off her blazer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go faster.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are the pushiest bitch I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe I just wanna watch you leave.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper winks and Annabeth laughs as she throws her hair up into a bun and heads towards her bathroom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can’t get enough, can you?” she says, shaking her ass in the doorway, and Piper laughs wildly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Save those moves for the party Friday—the people will love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth internally groans at the reminder, but when she gets a shoe thrown at her she realizes that the sound may not have been so internal.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re coming, asshole!” Piper calls as Annabeth shuts the bathroom door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wouldn’t miss it! Unless of course something tragic were to happen!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will end you!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth takes her time in the shower, stands beneath the steady stream of water far too long before she even makes a move to grab her shampoo. She needs a few beats, needs to let the hot water run over her, needs to let the steam surround her, envelop her until she can pretend she might be able to hide within it forever. She doesn’t <em>really </em>need to leave her apartment ever again—she could technically live off all her endorsement royalties for at least five years. Five years sounds like the perfect amount of time for her to be forgotten by the world, to become a distant memory in the minds of those who witnessed her mishap today.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alright. She’s catastrophizing the <em>slightest </em>bit. But after having everything she planned for come crashing down around her with one poorly timed entrance, she feels like she has the right to a bit of drama. Right now, in the safety of her tub, she can imagine the water melting her down and taking her down the drain with it, traveling through the pipes and carrying her out to sea. Sure, she’d have to go through the rat-infested, shit-filled sewers of Manhattan before she got there, but eventually she would return and become one with the seafoam. What a life that might be.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t stop feeling sorry for herself until the groceries arrive and she and Piper camp out on the couch, shoveling ice cream into their mouths despite the fact that it’s not yet 10:30 in the morning. Once they are settled together, Annabeth’s head in Piper’s lap, Netflix playing on the small TV in front of her floor-to-ceiling windows, Annabeth allows herself to relax. So she had a rough day. She flashed her boss and made a fool of herself and cried in the street covered in—what was to onlookers—a mystery fluid. She’s been through worse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She feels the lingering ghost of a sharp pain in her hamstring, squeezes her eyes shut tight. Sprinting, the world racing by, heaving, her chest ready to burst, tumbling, a horrible tear, a pain so intense and so excruciating that she blacked out in front of the entire world. And then—everything falling out of her grasp. One gold medal away from a world record title. She had it in the palm of her hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now she is lying on a couch stuffing her face and crying over some spilled coffee. She has a college degree and a plan for her future that is brighter than any path she ever imagined before the fall, and she is better than this. She is better than feeling sorry for herself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time Piper must leave for work and smacks a kiss over her best friend’s eyebrow, Annabeth’s resolve is steady and sure as ever. She pulls out a sketchbook, grabs her pencils, and gets to work. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A project that will stand the test of time. A monument for the ages. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her name will be etched in stone above the entryway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite her earlier reluctance to attend her best friend’s party, by the time Friday rolls around Annabeth is more than ready to let loose and enjoy herself. Her week started off in a nightmarish hellscape but once she found her footing she managed to make it to the other side unscathed. The day after the coffee incident, Annabeth got her chance at a second first impression and managed to earn the respect of not only her boss, but her peers as well. She had walked into the office on Tuesday calm, cool, collected, side-stepped a dipshit intern, and blown those sons of bitches away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something strange happened on Thursday, though. Annabeth had stopped for coffee at the cafe across from her office building before heading to work, to fill up on caffeine after staying up late sketching the night before. She was waiting for her order when a young girl approached her, wide-eyed, textbooks in hand. She was short and stout and had bronze skin, wire-framed glasses perched precariously on the edge of her nose, her combat boots untied, just waiting for an accident to happen. She pushed her glasses higher up her nose and tucked her curly black hair behind her ear, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you,” she began in a quiet voice. “I just—are you Annabeth Chase?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth was so surprised she took a moment to respond. She hadn’t been recognized in years.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—yeah. That’s me,” she said. “Do I know you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl shook her head hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, but—oh my God, this is so cool. You’re so cool. You’re like, the reason I decided to start running track. I fuckin’ love you, dude.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl’s eyes widened and Annabeth had laughed a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” she apologized, and Annabeth waved her hand dismissively.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” she told the girl. “Do you want, like—a picture or something?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes widened even more. Annabeth couldn’t imagine how much bigger they could possibly get—they were huge, dark brown and swimming in what seemed a bit like fear. Annabeth felt terrible for her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, no I—I mean, yeah, but—could I interview you for my school project?” she asked, and Annabeth knit her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s just—well, it's my sophomore year and we have this year-long research project and we were given like <em>zero </em>guidance and—I’m a runner so I wanted to do something sports-related, maybe like athletes and mental health and—if I had a famous athlete to talk to that would just put me right over the edge, I would <em>so </em>get an A,” she explained, and Annabeth stared at her, then burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so not famous,” Annabeth laughed. “I’m the exact opposite of famous. I’m a washed-up ex-Olympian. I’ve already been forgotten.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not by me!” the girl exclaimed, and Annabeth sobered up immediately. “Sorry. I just think—it doesn’t matter if you’re famous. You’re an Olympic gold medalist—you’re the <em>best of the best</em>. It would be perfect.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth had knit her eyebrows in confusion and just stared at the girl until her order was called, and she shook her head to clear it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen, I’m running late to work,” Annabeth began. “I’m flattered and everything, but—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait. Don’t make your decision yet. Please, <em>please</em>, just think about it. Here, I’ll give you my IG. That way you don’t have to worry about your phone number getting leaked or whatever.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl ripped a full page of her textbook out, then scribbled her handle over a diagram of the human liver and shoved it into Annabeth’s hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please will you consider it?” she asked, her eyes wide and innocent.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth furrowed her eyebrows, finding it difficult to say no to her. She was so fucking cute, with her big round cheeks and her even bigger, rounder eyes. How could she deny the poor kid when she was looking at her like that?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll think about it,” Annabeth relented, and the girl squealed and threw her arms around Annabeth in a hug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best! You’re so fucking cool! Thank you!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, I didn’t agree yet,” Annabeth said, squirming around in the girl’s arms. “Could you—let go please?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl released her and took a step back, her cheeks darkening.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” she apologized sheepishly. “Just—thanks. Take your time. No rush. It’s only August—we have until May.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>We</em>—?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Love you, DM me, have a great day, you’re super hot, bye!” the girl called over her shoulder as she ran out of the place, and Annabeth was left lost and confused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is still lost and confused as she thinks about it now, the paper still tucked into her work bag. She’s not quite sure why she kept it—she just knows that every time she’s told herself to throw it away, she couldn’t manage it. Maybe it's her ego; she really was flattered that the girl had recognized her, had thought she was great. <em>The best of the best</em>, she’d said. But Annabeth had long left that life behind, and she was better for it. She <em>is</em> better for it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She really, really needs to stop thinking about it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She focuses now on celebrating her week’s victories the way she deserves to—drunk and singing along to her favorite songs with her best friend and a bunch of other inebriated strangers. It’s exactly what she needs, and it’s exactly what she gets, until she finally makes it into the living room to find her boss sitting on the floor in front of Piper’s long couch, nursing a beer. She blanches and grabs Piper’s arm, drags her away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper, what the fuck is my boss doing here?” she whispers furiously, and Piper knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your boss? What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth spins Piper around and crouches down to hide behind her despite being several inches taller and wider than her best friend. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit, <em>Reyna</em> is your boss?” Piper exclaims, and Annabeth whacks her arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut the fuck up,” she whispers furiously. “She’ll hear you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper turns around and rolls her eyes, pulls Annabeth up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Babe, you’re looking at this all wrong,” Piper says. “This is so great for you. Reyna’s one of my closest friends—you’re my best friend. You two have a connection outside of work now, you have an in. She’ll totally fall in love with you and give you, like, all the projects.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think she’s the type of person to give preference to her friends’ friends.” Annabeth pauses. “Also, I want my projects fair and square. Because I <em>earned </em>them, not because I’m favored.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s true. At least you can get some face time, though, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? No. I’m not going over there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why? Think you might be tempted to flash her again?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth glares at Piper but she just grins wickedly and drags her over to where Reyna sits, and Annabeth truly wants to die.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, funny story,” Piper begins, and Reyna seems totally at ease at the fact that Annabeth is standing before her. “You’re Annabeth’s hot boss. Annabeth is my best friend. Chit chat now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shoves Annabeth forward and goes to mingle with her other guests, and Annabeth huffs out a breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so sorry about this,” she says to Reyna, and her boss waves her hand dismissively.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, I suspected something like this might happen,” Reyna says, and Annabeth knits her eyebrows in confusion. “I knew who you were when I hired you. Piper never shuts up about you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” Annabeth says, a bit disheartened at the thought that she may have only gotten her job because of a connection, and not because she deserved it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna seems to be able to pick up on her disappointment because she stands before Annabeth and holds her shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did not pick you because you’re Piper’s friend,” Reyna tells her, holding her eyes with her own. “I picked you because your resume is outstanding and your portfolio gave me actual chills. Plus your mentor’s recommendation was just—I’ve never received anything like that before. You earned your spot at ArchiTrust. I need you to know that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods, grateful for the reassurance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you,” she says, then pauses. “This doesn’t have to be awkward, right? I’m just really terrible at compartmentalizing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I happen to be excellent at it. We’re going to get drunk together tonight and then on Monday I will go back to being a stone-cold bitch. Sound good?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth takes a deep breath and nods a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will do my best.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wonderful. Since this is happening, I’d like you to meet my wife.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna steps aside and Annabeth’s eyes fall on the last person in the world she ever expected to see sitting on Piper’s white leather couch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarisse La Rue?” Annabeth exclaims in shock, and her old friend gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth Chase,” she says, almost reverently, and they both break out into massive smiles as Clarisse stands and they hug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” Annabeth laughs. “What the fuck are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m with my wife. What the fuck are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper is my best friend.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, she’s my best friend too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth rolls her eyes as she pulls away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Competition’s over, Clarisse, you can relax,” she teases, and Clarisse shoves her—hard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stands her ground.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I haven’t seen you since Rio,” Clarisse says. “How’s that ACL?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ripped to shreds,” Annabeth answers. “All I have to show for it now is a display case in my fucking huge apartment.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both grin and Clarisse nudges her again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth was a sprinter,” Clarisse explains to Reyna. “Clumped track and field together like it was fuckin' high school.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why does Piper have so many friends who are ex-Olympians?” Reyna asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because legends attract each other,” Piper answers as she appears between Annabeth and Reyna, and they all roll their eyes at her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How many other Olympians do you know, Pipes?” Annabeth asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just a couple more. Jason’s in California for the next two months and Percy should be here soon, actually.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy who?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jackson,” Clarisse says. “Swimmer.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth raises one eyebrow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuckin’ swimmers,” she grumbles into her drink and takes a sip.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t even get me started,” Clarisse says, and Annabeth grins a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy is the exception to whatever weird Olympian insider rule you two have,” Piper defends, and Reyna nods seriously. Piper eyes Annabeth, sending her a look that she does not like one bit. “I think you’ll really enjoy his company, Annabeth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth narrows her eyes at her friend suspiciously and they have a stand-off until Reyna cuts in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy Jackson is the reason Clarisse and I met,” she says, and Clarisse rolls her eyes, but she has a fond smile on her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s still a little shit,” she remarks, but her tone is far too warm for her words to hold any heat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nudges Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why haven’t we met you yet if you and Piper are so close?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Went to UC Berkeley to finish my degree after the accident,” Annabeth explains. “I only got back in August. I wanted to just get as far away from here as possible.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, your mom’s still batshit, huh?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wouldn’t really know, but probably.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse raises one eyebrow and Annabeth notices for the first time the brace on her right shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit, are you chronic?” Annabeth asks, and Clarisse rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have been for years,” she says, rolling out her shoulder. “That’s what I get for not quitting while I was ahead.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s see yours,” Clarisse says, a wicked smile on her face, and Annabeth grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I’ve flashed your wife enough for one week,” she jokes, and Reyna laughs wildly as Clarisse chuckles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was you?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods and Clarisse laughs some more, throwing her head back. Piper grins at her best friend, her face shining with pride.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Show us your ass, Chase, this is the moment I’ve been waiting for all night,” Piper says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth rolls her eyes and lifts the hem of her sweater dress to show them the brace and tape supporting her left leg and knee. Clarisse lets out a long whistle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Got the full setup,” she remarks, and Annabeth hums in agreement as she pulls her dress back down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She can’t help but think about that girl—whose name she still does not know—as she makes her next point.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can’t believe we gave our all to a team that didn’t even bother taking care of us when all was said and done,” she says. “Look at us. My hamstring is basically confetti, your shoulder’s probably a fuckin’ jigsaw puzzle, and Jason can hardly walk most days.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t forget Percy,” Piper says, and Clarisse and Reyna quiet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He has it worst of all of us,” Clarisse says, gentler, and Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s wrong with him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They all gape at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You seriously don’t remember Percy Jackson?” Piper asks. “Went down in history as the youngest competitor to ever win gold in the 400 medley and 200 fly? Broke the world record for the 200 freestyle?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows, has a vague memory of the name floating around that summer. She’d been so focused on her own events, though, that she couldn’t be bothered to worry about anyone else. The only reason she even knew Clarisse was a shot putter was that they were forced to sit next to each other on the plane.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean—I don’t know. I guess? What happened to him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna raises her eyebrows and Clarisse clears her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s kind of—for him to divulge,” Piper says. “He had an accident. It was a head injury, so…he lost his speech. And his movement on his right side.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” she breathes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse looks about ready to go on a rampage, but Reyna speaks up before her wife can.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s fine,” Reyna says. “He just…his speech is off. He can understand well enough but speaking, getting the words out—it’s difficult for him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s been almost three years, though, and he’s walking and talking and alive,” Clarisse adds. “The rest is none of our business.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods, the mood sufficiently killed. She raises her drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To giving our all and getting absolute shit in return,” she says, and they raise their cups and bottles in cheers. “Let’s get smashed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They do, for the most part. They drink and laugh and reminisce and mostly stay in their own little bubble for the entirety of the party, Piper’s other guests forgotten as she throws herself onto the couch and the four of them talk. Annabeth cannot believe how lucky she is to watch her boss get progressively drunker and more ridiculous as the night goes on, until she is reduced to a giggling mess in her wife’s lap. It’s actually incredibly endearing—there is something so sweet about watching the world’s most intimidating human being become increasingly tender and giddy. Reyna is trying to stick her finger up Clarisse’s nose when Annabeth decides she needs to use the bathroom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In her drunken state, she somehow ends up in the kitchen. Despite the fact that she’s not even really that intoxicated, she immediately feels thrown off, turned around, cannot seem to get her bearings. She spins around, trying to figure out where exactly she is in the massive apartment, but she comes up short. On her second spin, she quite literally slams into someone and stumbles back as they do. They reach out and grab her arms to keep her from falling, and when she looks up, her apology dies in her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Standing before her is quite possibly the most attractive man she has ever laid eyes on. Dark brown skin, a face half-hidden by a scruffy black beard, deep green eyes set in concern, surrounded by the longest lashes she has ever seen on <em>anyone</em>. The furrow of a brow arched just so. Strong, lean arms, a firm grip on her wrist and palms that are warm warm warm. He is incredibly warm. She raises her eyebrows as a wave of confidence hits her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit, you are gorgeous.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last thing in the world Percy wanted to do when he woke up on Friday was to attend a party full of drunk strangers, but he found himself at Piper’s apartment two hours later than he was meant to be nonetheless. He figured it was fine—Piper’s get-togethers usually lasted well into the small hours of the morning, so him showing up right before midnight wouldn’t bother her much. It was Hazel’s fault, really; she insisted on getting her hair braided after her last class that afternoon, and the process took nearly eight hours to complete. The end result was worth it, though, because her box braids looked fucking incredible, with silver and gold threaded through. It made her look ethereal, glowing—she was a badass, and it showed. When Percy asked why she decided on the sudden change she narrowed her eyes and glared at her reflection as she got ready for the party.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck professionalism,” was her only explanation, and he didn’t really need any more information than that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now, in the true spirit of fucking professionalism, Hazel is doing shots with Leo at Piper’s bar. Percy is watching amusedly, amazed at the way the two absolute lightweights before him are so sure of themselves. He laughs wildly when Leo nearly shoots tequila out of his nose and turns to grab his friend a towel, but he crashes into someone and grabs onto them before he can fall backward.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once he gets his balance back he looks them over, concerned. He wants to apologize but the second his eyes meet hers he freezes up, because holy shit. They are a startling grey color, so dark that they almost look like denim in the low light of Piper’s kitchen. And the way she is looking at him—he cannot put to words how intense her stare is. Inquisitive, sharp, totally focused. He has never felt so seen, so exposed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hates it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is objectively very beautiful, with her golden curls framing her moonlike face, her cheeks round and rosy pink, but he wishes that she would just stop looking at him that way, before he jumps out of his skin. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She says something, then, but it is far too loud at the party and he is incredibly overwhelmed by the way she continues to stare at him. Percy is too nervous to speak, now, cannot manage to get anything out at all. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, <em>trying</em>, but nothing comes. He looks over his shoulder to get help from Hazel or Leo, but they have disappeared into the crowd. He turns back and looks past her to find someone, anyone who could explain for him, and makes eye contact with Piper, who is struggling to get through the crowd of people before her. He beckons her over, widening his eyes a fraction, has no doubt in his mind that he looks like the world’s most desperate fucking idiot. Piper realizes what’s happening and hurries over, throwing an elbow or two, and comes up behind the woman in front of him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is speaking—he can register that much. But the music and the voices around them overwhelm his senses and Percy is too anxious to understand the words that are being exchanged. The woman looks between Piper and Percy as Piper’s lips move and suddenly—it clicks. He sees the clarity in her eyes and her face immediately softens, apologetic. She and Piper turn to him and Piper motions at the woman and says something, but—no. That can’t be right. Percy knits his eyebrows and looks between them and Piper tilts her head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fff-fff—fruit?” he says, because the sound he just heard suddenly cannot come out of his mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper shakes her head and moves closer to him, speaks directly into his ear. He hears the same thing and looks at her like she has three heads. They stay like that, staring at each other in absolute confusion until a lightbulb goes off in his mind and he holds up his hand for them to wait. He moves to the fruit bowl tucked into the corner of Piper’s counter and grabs the item, brings it back to show Piper. He points at the fruit, then at the woman, raises his hands in a question. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Recognition dawns on Piper’s face and she starts laughing wildly, so hard her face turns red and tears form in her eyes. She shakes her head and leans her face in the woman’s shoulder, and Percy bites back his smile. Obviously he is totally off. Once, it might have really upset him, thrown him into a frustrated rage. Now, as his best friend laughs and explains to the woman before them what Percy thinks her name is, he can only start to chuckle, too, and he buries his face in his arms on the bar. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Banana?” he hears Piper laugh into his ear. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then she is reduced in a fit of giggles once more. Percy peeks out from his elbow to look at Not-Banana and finds that she is doing her best not to laugh. She seems a bit out of sorts, probably as drunk as Piper, and the way she is scrunching up her nose, amusement dancing in her eyes, is so fucking adorable it makes him ache. She breaks and starts laughing as well, and Percy thinks his chest might explode. Her smile is like nothing he has ever seen before, bright and unrestricted, taking up her entire face. Her features are soft but this makes her even softer, and soon Percy can feel his cheeks getting sore as he laughs along with them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He has the sudden and overwhelming urge to talk to her, to get to know her, find out who she is. All he knows right now is that she is beautiful and her name is not Banana and he is desperate to find out more. He leans close to Piper’s ear, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Quiet,” he says, and she grins and nods, grabs his right hand and the woman’s left and drags them through her massive apartment until they reach the living room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There they find Clarisse, Reyna, Hazel, and Leo, and Piper rounds them all up, kicking at their legs and feet to get them to follow her. She leads the group out of her apartment and up a few flights of stairs until they reach a rusty metal door. The woman helps Piper push it open and they step out onto the roof, where they find a big sitting area with plants and plush couches and string lights.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Given that Piper lives in a high-rise, the view from her roof is fucking incredible. The whole of Manhattan is stretched out before them, alight and buzzing with an energy that can be felt even fifty stories up. Percy wanders over to the edge, where the only barrier between his body and the drop below is a small wall that stops at his hip. He peers over the edge and feels his stomach drop as his head spins, and he takes a step back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wild shit,” a voice behind him says, and he jumps in surprise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns to find the woman from earlier behind him taking in the view, her face awestruck. Her eyes are bright and the smile on her lips is one of pure amazement, until her gaze falls on him. Her smile turns a bit sheepish, then, and she bites the inside of her cheek as she offers him her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth,” she says slowly, carefully, and Percy’s smile feels like it might split his face in half.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes her hand, tries for a firm grip, but comes up short. He frowns at his wrist, disappointed at the fact that he’d been getting progressively stronger as the week moved forward and it is failing him now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My name is Percy,” he eventually says, still looking at their hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her palm is patchy—soft in some places, rough and hardened in others. But it is so warm and as the wind whips around them and chills him down to the bone it is a welcome feeling. He can’t bring himself to let go.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annnn-Annie.” He winces, shakes his head. “Sorry.” He takes a deep breath. “Beth,” his mouth spits out, and he bites down hard on his tongue.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To his surprise, she just smiles gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth is fine,” she says, but he is not satisfied. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t want to be let off the hook so easily. She knows about Percy’s issue, obviously. She knows why he is struggling. But he hates the fact that he is so easily forgiven. A name is more than just a string of letters and sounds—it is who you are, it is all of you, wrapped up and condensed into something tangible, vocal. It is important, and he will not give up on it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She seems to recognize the look on his face because she squeezes his hand gently, and his heart does a little flip when she meets his eyes again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s what all my friends call me,” she assures him. “I like it better that way.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously and she imitates him, sends his look right back, a small smile playing at her lips. He grins fully then, and she rolls her eyes and tugs him forward as she walks back towards their friends.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A Beth, hidden, wrapped up inside an Annabeth, short and sweet and easy on his lips, lingering long after it’d been spoken. He wonders, as they join their friends on the plush couches, where one begins and the other ends, if there might be a difference between the two at all. Beth to the people she knows, Annabeth to the rest of the world. He wonders what it might be like if he were to introduce himself as Perseus, to tack on a <em>you can call me Percy </em>to the end of it. Too many words, too long-winded. He is constantly trying, failing, adjusting, rearranging. He has been condensed and reduced down more times than he can count. Maybe that's why he does not want to do the same to her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is sitting next to him, her thigh just barely brushing against his, their shoulders bumping against each other every so often. He has only just learned her name and yet every time her hair falls against his arm or she turns her head to face him he can only think about how much he never wants it to end. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell us about yourself, Annabeth,” Hazel says, leaning forward on the couch across from them. “Piper never shuts up about you, but I wanna hear it from the source.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles widely and nudges Piper gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’m 26, I just moved back to New York from Berkeley and now I work for Reyna as an architect,” she says, and Reyna smiles and raises her drink towards Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t forget about the part where you flashed me on your first day of work,” Reyna adds, cuddling up next to her wife, and Annabeth’s cheeks turn a deep shade of red. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She covers her cheeks with her hands and the gesture is so sweet and endearing that Percy feels his throat constrict.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please elaborate,” Hazel says, her eyes shining with amusement, and Percy grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh God,” Annabeth breathes. “She walked in on me, so really, it’s her fault.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna sits up straight, then, shaking her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mm-nn, no. You just had your shirt wide open in the women’s room, not even in a stall. The onus was <em>not </em>on me there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Did you just use the word onus while absolutely plastered?" Leo asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna waves her hand dismissively, nearly smacking Clarisse in the nose, and waits for Annabeth's response.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a technicality.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Technicalities my ass, you’re not in the Olympics anymore, sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, <em>another</em> Olympian?” Hazel says, then throws her head back on the couch behind her. “Enough already,” she groans. “Why is everyone so fucking accomplished?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel hates it,” he says, knocking his knee into Annabeth’s, and she grins a bit as she looks at him. “Sore loser.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He catches sight of Piper over Annabeth’s head, her eyebrows raised in surprise. She grins and he knits his eyebrows, sends her a silent question, but she just shakes her head and sips her drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, fuck you,” Hazel cuts in, and Annabeth laughs brightly. “I am not a sore loser. I happen to love myself too much to subject myself to fuckin’ torture just to get a shiny necklace and a pat on the back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s jaw drops in shock and Percy grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s exactly what it was, actually,” she says, amazed. “I applaud you for not falling into the trap.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel tosses her braids over her shoulder, whipping Leo in the face as she does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m actually a trained gymnast,” she says haughtily, and everyone except for Annabeth groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here we go,” Piper mumbles into her cup.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please for the love of <em>God</em>,” Reyna complains, throwing herself across Clarisse's lap.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse leans down and kisses her wife's forehead and Reyna smiles up at her, her eyes half-closed as she tugs on Clarisse's ear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, no, I’m intrigued,” Annabeth says, hitting Piper’s leg. She turns back to Hazel. “Please tell me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, since you asked—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel, <em>no</em>—” Clarisse says, trying to intervene.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was 16, I’d been training since I was three and the 2012 Olympic qualifiers were underway,” she begins dramatically, and Leo groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah, you face-planted on purpose because you couldn’t take the pressure, you can still do a fucking insane floor routine, we get it,” he cuts in. “Meanwhile here I sit, a fucking <em>rocket scientist</em> and all you losers can talk about are your dumb muscles. We’ve moved on—it’s time you do, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Leo’s just jealous because he can’t catch a ball,” Clarisse says, and Percy smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, that’s not fair,” Piper defends. “He can catch just fine. It’s his throwing that’s off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck y’all, when the robot apocalypse happens I’m not saving you from shit,” he says, and Percy laughs hard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Robot apocalypse</em>?” Annabeth exclaims. “<em>Please</em> elaborate, I am <em>begging </em>you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” everyone shouts at once, but Leo is already rubbing his hands together and leaning forward in anticipation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It starts with Siri,” he begins, and Percy can tell by the wild glint in his eye that it is too late to turn back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy loses track of time as they all hang out on the roof. Multiple conversations start happening at once and Percy’s head starts to spin a bit, so when Leo crosses the little table between the couches and plops himself between Percy and Annabeth to talk more about how AI will doom the human race, Percy decides it’s time to get up and moves his seat as well. Reyna has gone back to nearly melting into the couch so he lies down across her and Clarisse's laps and Clarisse grumbles about it for a bit before relenting. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Enjoying yourself, Perseus?” Reyna asks, playing with his hair sloppily, and he grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A lot,” he responds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You talked to Annabeth earlier, didn’t you?” Clarisse says, and he nods carefully.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s…nice,” he decides, and she snorts into her drink. He knits his eyebrows. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Seems like you think she’s more than <em>nice</em>,” Clarisse tells him, and he purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You shut up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You shut up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You shut—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off, the both of you,” Reyna cuts in, and her wife grumbles some more. “You’re 30 years old for fuck’s sake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hiccups and then giggles and drops her head onto Clarisse's shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“26,” Percy corrects. “I’m not—<em>old</em>. Rue’s old.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I'll kill you,” Clarisse growls, and Percy grins up at her and bops her on the nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think what Clarisse meant is that you wanna kiss her," Reyna says, and Clarisse snickers while Percy's face burns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I—I—what? I—no!" he sputters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"You were <em>pretty</em> talkative,” Reyna sings, then squeezes his lips between her fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think so,” he mumbles against her hand. He gently removes her hand from his mouth and looks up at her. “You think so?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do,” she informs him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You never talk to strangers,” Clarisse explains. “You talked to her. You did well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels his cheeks get a bit hot, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Too slow,” he mutters. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s how you always talk,” Clarisse says, and Reyna elbows her not so subtly. “What? He knows.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grimaces and fiddles with a loose string on his sweater. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He knows,” he confirms quietly, then sighs heavily. “It’s okay. Words are words.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s fuckin’ right,” Clarisse agrees. “Who cares if you talk slow? Who cares if you don’t talk at all? It doesn’t make you any less capable or intelligent or worthy than anyone else. Fuck whoever has a problem with it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles widely at her offended expression, recognizes that the offense is on his behalf. She loves him; she really, truly does. He loves her too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re cute,” he tells her, and Reyna laughs wildly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse pushes him off her lap and onto the ground. He gets up and kisses her forehead, then ducks out of her reach as quickly as possible, before she can get him. He settles himself next to Piper, rests his head on her shoulder as she and Hazel talk about something he doesn’t have the energy to tune into. As Piper plays with his hair, twisting his curls around her fingers, he thinks about what Clarisse said earlier, rolls the words around in his head a few times. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a time, not long ago, when he would not have believed her. He would have thought she just wanted to make him feel better, that she was lying to him for his own good. He knows now, though, that she is right. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His speech has changed. He knows this. He has trouble expressing himself, communicating. He knows this, too. These things hold no weight when measuring his intelligence, his capability, his worthiness, just as Clarisse said. Language, so fundamental to the human experience, is now partially lost on him, but that does not mean he is anything less than human. He is the same person he has always been, still Percy Jackson, but older, wiser, with fewer words to speak. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But words are not the crux of communication—they are just one route. He has his eyes and hands and face and body and he can speak to the people he loves that way alone. He can communicate with the people who love him, who know him, perfectly fine. He does not need long-winded explanations, does not need speeches or declarations. He can say it all with a squeeze of the wrist, a lingering gaze, a kiss on the forehead. And they can say it all right back to him just the same.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Less worthy</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No, he is no less worthy than anyone else. After all this time he knows now that he is allowed to have and do the things that make him happy. He deserves to be happy, period.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes fall on Annabeth as her and Leo’s conversation melds in with Piper’s and Hazel’s and he bites the inside of his cheek, thinks about that happiness. He is not so naive to think a stranger he only just met could make him happy, but he hopes that she might stick around so that he can find out. Her gaze meets his and she smiles the slightest bit, so he sends her one back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Warm hands and rosy cheeks and golden curls tumbling down her shoulders. An ex-athlete, someone who might be able to understand. Knowing eyes, an inquisitive smile, a gaze that Percy feels burning right through him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe he is a bit naive after all.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Once again I just want to note that while I’ve been studying neurological damage and disorders like Broca’s Aphasia for the past two years, I cannot know what it’s like firsthand, and I do not claim to understand what it’s like to live with this disorder. I just realized that there are hardly any stories out there that have characters who live with neurological issues like this and I also wanted to bring light to the fact that a loss of language is not indicative of a lack of intelligence or cognitive capability. I also didn’t want the story to be about Percy’s struggle with coming to terms with his loss—I have no idea what that experience is like and I cannot claim to even begin to comprehend how difficult it must be. Instead, I just wanted to write a story where this happens to be a part of the main character’s journey, and he is living his life. If you’re reading along and find that there’s something wrong or offensive or inaccurate, please please let me know. I won’t hesitate to correct it or even take it down entirely if ever there is a question that I may have caused any harm, as that is the last thing I would ever want to do.<br/>Also, updates are probably not going to be timely at all I am so sorry I impulse-posted this at 1:30am. Once again, thank you so much for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello I'm back earlier than expected (again) and I have some notes for you:<br/>*Trigger Warning*: self-inflicted injury (not exactly self-harm but a purposeful injury is implied in one section), brief mentions of controlling/borderline abusive behavior (especially in regards to weight)<br/>-I'm going to mark the section where these are mentioned like this *** ~ ~ ~ *** so you'll know what to skip if you find it difficult to read about. Please don't worry about skipping, I'll recap anything significant in the next chapter's summary<br/>-Chapter deals with chronic pain, depression<br/>-I realized that with the way I formatted Percy's dialogue it seems as though he speaks at a normal pace and rhythm, and I wanted to clear it up: his speech is slow and halting. This means that he both pronounces words slowly and that the pauses and spaces between words are more drawn out. I hope this makes it more clear. If you have any questions feel free to ask! I will do my best to explain and link you to some resources if you'd like to learn more<br/>-Edit to the story: the beginning of the story is now taking place in August (I initially had September), Percy’s accident was a little less than three years ago (not two)<br/>Here are foundations to support/keep in mind/share with others to raise awareness:<br/>https://www.childneurologyfoundation.org/<br/>https://www.stroke.org/en (America Stroke Association)<br/>https://www.americanbrainfoundation.org/<br/>http://www.vohaphasia.org/ (Voices of Hope for Aphasia)<br/>Thanks so much for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth does not believe in fate. She does not believe in destiny, or predetermination, or luck, or anything other than the fact that human beings operate on free will and free will alone. It is the choices we make, she thinks, that determine where we end up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which is why she finds it incredibly suspicious that, after her discussion with Piper on Friday, Percy just so happens to find himself at the coffee shop across from her office on Wednesday morning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth had slept over Piper’s apartment the night of the party, stayed behind to help clean up and enjoy the comforts of Piper’s plush, king-sized mattress. They’d finally taken care of most of the damage and were climbing into bed next to each other when Piper spoke up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you’ve met Hazel,” she began. “And Leo. And Percy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She seemed to be trying to gauge Annabeth’s reaction when she said his name, and Annabeth had rolled her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, I’ve met all your friends,” she confirmed. “They’re lovely.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy is <em>particularly </em>lovely, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gave her a look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think all your friends are <em>equally</em> lovely.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, but <em>Percy</em>—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper, please,” Annabeth had sighed, collapsing onto her pillow. “I’m really not in a place for you to do your whole matchmaker thing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper had grimaced at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do not do a matchmaker thing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do. You get these ideas about who would be a cute couple and then your force it on them through a series of well-timed meetups and ‘coincidences’ until they either fall in love or kill each other.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It always ends in love. I have a 100% track record.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do <em>not</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do too! Grover and Juniper? All me. Nico and Will? Yours truly. Reyna and Clarisse? Me again, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Reyna said Percy is the reason she and Clarisse met.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper rolled her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, technically that’s how they met but <em>I </em>am the only reason they got together. They were both blind fools and I was there to nudge them gently in the direction of love and lifelong happiness.”<br/></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had paused and looked at Annabeth pointedly, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t you want love and lifelong happiness?” Piper asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I find that I have love and lifelong happiness in the palm of my hand already.” Piper frowned, and Annabeth reached out and caressed her cheek. “Lying here beside me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper smacked Annabeth’s hand away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s so not what I meant,” Piper said.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, but isn’t it flattering to think that I would rather live out the rest of my days with you, the woman I love, than some gross rando?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was flattering until you pitted me against a gross rando.” She paused, then, and moved her head closer to Annabeth’s. “Luckily Percy is neither gross nor a rando.” Annabeth groaned. “Come on, Beth. I know you think he’s hot as shit. You were basically devouring him with your eyes all night.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth felt her cheeks heat up a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was the alcohol. Can’t control its wandering gaze.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bullshit. It was all you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth sighed heavily and rolled onto her back, shut her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper, it doesn’t matter if I think he’s the most gorgeous son of a bitch I’ve ever seen,” Annabeth began. “I’m not looking for anything right now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why not?” Piper whined.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I’m trying to establish myself here, okay? I’ve just started a new job and I have an apartment and I’m making friends and I just—I don’t want a partner. I just need to live my life for me for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmph,” Piper had said, rolling onto her back and crossing her arms over her chest. “Fair enough.” She paused, then. “Fine. I’ll back off. Establish yourself. Live your life for you. For a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth narrowed her eyes at Piper, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why’d you say it like that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go fuck yourself, McLean.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now why would I do that when I have the hottest single in Manhattan sleeping in my bed?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth had smacked Piper in the face with a pillow and that had been the end of the discussion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, as she stands in line waiting to order and watches Percy enter the shop from the far door before he looks up and meets her eyes, a gorgeous, genuine smile overtaking his face, she has a very strong feeling that it had <em>not </em>been the end of that discussion. Percy’s smile only grows larger as he walks towards the end of the line to greet her, and she cannot do a single thing but return it. It’s contagious, that smile. It spreads his cheeks and makes his eyes crinkle up and lights up his entire face, makes him look like sunshine personified. Glowing and warm and so fucking bright.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” Percy greets, then pulls her into a hug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is surprised at the sudden gesture, was not expecting it, so she freezes up instead of hugging him back. He is so damn warm and he smells like chocolate chip cookies and his arms are so strong and she is still frozen in place like an absolute fool, can’t bring herself to raise her arms to hug him back. He seems to interpret her hesitation as discomfort and draws back immediately, his face serious.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” he says. “Really sorry—hugs. Um—I—hug everyone.” He shakes his head. “I forget sometimes. People don’t like hugs.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head, squeezes his forearm in reassurance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, really. I love hugs,” she tells him. “I was just surprised, is all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows, looks her over as if he’s trying to determine if she’s being honest or taking pity on him. She rolls her eyes and wraps her arms around him, then, pulls him against her. She is definitely only doing it to let him know she’s okay. She is definitely not using it as an excuse to rest her head on his broad shoulder or feel the way his arms wrap around her once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He freezes up for a second before he snakes his arms around her shoulders and squeezes her gently, a long, steady pressure that sinks deep down to the pit of her belly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Believe me now?” she asks, and he chuckles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he laughs. “You smell nice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pulls back a bit to smile at him, raising her eyebrows, and finds that his cheeks are flushed deep red. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do I smell like?” she asks, and he gets even redder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clears his throat and releases her completely, takes half a step back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fruit. Um—I. Shit,” he mumbles, and she bites the inside of her cheek. “Lemons!” he exclaims suddenly, and nearly everyone in the place turns to stare. He ignores them, his face lit up, blush nearly gone. “Lemons. Oh, lemons. Lemons, lemons, lemons.” He shakes his head, smiling widely. “Lemons.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re very passionate about lemons,” she says, and he exhales heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Forgot the word,” he tells her. “I remember it now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lemons,” she says, and his smile only grows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lemons,” he affirms, his voice gentle and confident, and she feels her stomach warm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make it to the front of the line, then, and Annabeth places her order, then turns to Percy and raises a questioning eyebrow. His cheeks darken and pulls out a piece of paper, hands it to the barista, who whistles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit, this is complex,” the man says, and Percy nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” he apologizes, then turns to Annabeth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can’t say it,” he tells her. “Nico—sugar demon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins, then, and asks for the paper so she can read it, but it has so many words and adjustments that she thinks her head might explode.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anything else?” the barista asks, and Percy nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Green tea, please. And honey.” He glances at Annabeth and purses his lips as if he’s trying not to smile. “Lemon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth bites the inside of her cheek, wondering whether he always takes his drink that way, but says nothing as she reaches for her wallet. Percy beats her to it, handing the barista his card, and Annabeth glares at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the shit?” she says, and he chokes out a laugh. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the—shit?” he laughs, retrieving his card and stepping back to wait for their orders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, what the shit. It’s a phrase reserved for moments of shock, awe, and offense.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Offense?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, I’m offended.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His confused grimace deepens.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why’d you pay for me? I could have done it myself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—you reached,” he defends. “Your wallet—<em>you </em>wanted to pay <em>me</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I wanted to pay <em>for </em>you,” she corrects, and he casts his eyes down sheepishly</span> <span class="s1">. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She swallows and realizes her mistake, then. She is a Grade A asshole.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, I didn’t mean—sorry, Percy,” she mutters, and he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s good,” he tells her. “Better. Gotta learn.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I could’ve been nicer about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m fine. I’m not—don’t worry. I don’t care.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About being corrected?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everyone thinks—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He exhales a heavy breath and shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Correct me always,” he tells her, holding her eyes very seriously, and she nods. “Promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sticks out his right pinky, then, and she grins as she hooks theirs together. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna kiss it?” he asks, and she feels her eyes widen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excuse me?” she breathes, shocked, and he laughs a bit, raises their fists by their interlocked pinkies.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kiss the promise,” he clarifies, still laughing, and she feels her face burning down to her neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She exhales a heavy breath and he keeps on laughing at her, so she whacks him with her free hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” she says, and he grins and bites his bottom lip.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cannot pretend that her eyes aren’t drawn to the motion, that she is not nearly mirroring it herself. She looks back up to his eyes and feels the intensity of his gaze, then, as if he’s trying to read her mind. She absolutely despises it, wants it to end as soon as possible, so she leans forward and kisses her fist as he does his, making sure not to look him in the eye. She doesn’t think she’d be able to handle it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Promise I’ll always correct you,” she mumbles and he tugs on her pinky, then straightens out and releases her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” he says, nodding once, and she rolls back her shoulders and does her best to regain her composure. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you all the way downtown, by the way?” she asks. “The other night you said you live way up in Harlem.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Therapy,” he tells her, and she raises her eyebrows, surprised at how open he is about it. He shakes his head. “To Practice.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He flexes his right hand as if to demonstrate, and she is sure the realization on her face is as clear as day because Percy laughs at her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do all kinds,” he tells her. “Emotions, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nearly smiles. She wishes she might be so willing to share that information with him, but she is held back by far more than she can comprehend (which is why, she supposes, she is in therapy to begin with).</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper’s your speech therapist, isn’t she?” she asks, and he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Best one.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She told me she loves talking shit with you because all you do is listen and nod and make outraged faces when necessary.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs, then, from his belly, and she chuckles a bit. She doesn’t think she’d be able to describe how beautiful his laugh is even if she tried. A smile so wide that his cheeks nearly swallow his eyes, his hand on his stomach, his head thrown back, baring his throat to the world, vulnerable, open. He laughs with his entire body, as if it cannot contain all the joy flowing through him, as if he has no space for half-hearted amusement. He is a blinding yellow light, bright and sharp and blazing, but somehow tender and comforting, too. She cannot believe people like him exist, people who live so freely and entirely in their felicity. It makes her want to be better, to shine just as bright.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she is not someone who glows. Whatever light she might have is dull and damp and reserved only for her, selfish as it is. She does not have enough to share, can barely manage to keep the fire burning for herself. It’s too hard, she thinks, to give yourself to others. There are far too many risks involved, too many ways it could all go wrong, come crashing down around her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is a taker, she knows, not a giver. She basks in the glow of others’ light and gives nothing back. A black hole. A vortex of emptiness, swallowing every unfortunate soul who comes too close. No, she is not one to give.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She must be staring for far too long because she is only brought back to reality when she hears her name being called, the voice foreign, loud in her unhearing ears. It snaps her back to the present, grounds her, and Percy looks her over in concern, all traces of laughter gone in a second.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A taker, indeed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She carries the thought with her up to the moment they make it out onto the busy sidewalk, and she completely forgets how she arrived there, coffee in hand. Percy knits his eyebrows and squeezes her wrist gently with his right hand, his left occupied with his drink tray, and catches her eye. He seems to be asking her a silent question, an <em>are you okay I am incredibly concerned for you despite the fact that I barely know you at all which is also concerning to me because what the fuck just happened back there</em> that he definitely is only conveying one tiny part of. She may or may not be projecting the rest of her interpretation onto the worried look in his eyes. His gorgeous fucking eyes that take on a whole new depth in the sunlight, gone from emerald to sea glass, pale and gentle and a reminder of simpler days. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finds herself drowning in a nostalgia that does not belong to her, realizes with a start that whatever she is bearing witness to is only a reflection of what she longs to see. Taking, taking, and taking once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It sobers her immediately.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She clears her throat and removes her arm from his grasp, smiles tightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” she says. “Got distracted. I’ve gotta go before I’m late to work. I'll see you around?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns and nods, looking her over as if he’s checking for chinks in her armor, somewhere he might find the person she was a few moments ago, before her thoughts began to spiral out of her control. She’s not sure if she knows where that person went herself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can see it for himself—she can tell as much by the look on his face. He sucks one of his cheeks in and offers her a soft smile, a gentle, saccharine glow tamped down by tenderness and concern, and it’s all she can do to walk away before she manages to take that away from him, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy really can’t believe his luck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was on his way to physical therapy when Piper called to check in, ask him how his day had been going so far (which, he admits, was a bit strange considering the fact that it was 8 a.m.). When he’d told her he was on his way to physical therapy and had to grab Nico his usual coffee order, she’d screamed the name of some coffee shop into his ear and he’d blanched, holding the phone away from his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper, why?” he had said, wincing, and she’d taken a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, so sorry,” she had apologized. “Just—it’s delicious. Nico loves it, too. I’m sure he’d be so happy if you got him his drink from there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knit his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He never told me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, maybe he just didn’t think it was worth mentioning.” She’d cleared her throat, then. “Anyway, are you going?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re—I guess? Why—why—ah fuck.” He took a deep breath. “You love it, too?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why do I love it so much, you mean?” Percy hummed affirmatively. “I just think it’s important to support local businesses, is all. And take care of our friends. You know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy had his suspicions, but he went anyway, and lo and behold, he’d run into Annabeth, the one person he’d been dying to see since Saturday night. He’d been probably a bit too happy to see her, and he was sure it showed—he’d hugged her, for fuck’s sake. He’d wanted to curl up into a ball and die afterward, mortified at his eagerness. But once she’d hugged him back, he thought his blunder was worth the few moments of embarrassment it took to get there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s a great hugger. She had fully embraced him, linked her hands together between his shoulder blades and rested her ear right above his heart. He’d been terrified she may have heard it nearly beating out of his chest, but she stayed right where she was, warm and soft and incredibly present. She didn’t really squeeze him—she’d just pulled him in closer, and he could not believe how fucking lucky he’d been.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, as he crosses 8th Ave, he realizes that it wasn’t luck at all. It was Piper fucking McLean, that snake of a woman.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He really, truly loves her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, he can’t shake his concern from earlier, the way Annabeth had totally shut down, as if she was trapped inside her own head and couldn’t shake herself out of it. He’s felt that way himself more times than he can count, and he can’t help but wonder what might have brought it on. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because he meets Nico in the lobby of his physical therapy building, grinning widely at the sight of his friend tapping his foot impatiently, on the lookout for him. When Nico catches sight of Percy he huffs and waves him over, then grabs the frozen coffee out of Percy’s hand and takes a sip so large that a quarter of the drink disappears. He exhales heavily in relief and his posture relaxes as he smiles lazily up at Percy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are a godsend, do you understand me?” Nico says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grins and kisses the top of Nico’s head, then throws out the drink tray and drags him along to the elevator.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh-uh,” Nico tells him. “Will gave strict orders. You have to take the stairs.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy gapes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“15 floors?” he asks, shocked and Nico shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Three.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So…we go to 12.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He wants you to do the first three. So you can have a rest before you start your session.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grimaces and Nico mirrors it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate the stairs as much as you, believe me,” Nico says, and Percy does not need convincing. “But we gotta.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We do?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you suggesting I lie to my boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nico purses his lips in thought and Percy raises his eyebrows hopefully, shocked that it might have worked, but Nico shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, fuck you,” he says, and Percy deflates. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sounds so much like his sister that it almost makes Percy smile. Almost. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t try to get out of this because you know I’m a lazy bitch. You fuckin’ siren.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs, then, and Nico rolls his eyes and drags him along to the staircase, where they begin their ascent. When they finally make it to the elevator, three miserable flights of stairs later, Nico collapses on the ground, his legs splayed out in front of him. Percy would do the same if he wasn’t afraid that he might not be able to stand up again once he sat down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once they make it to the waiting room Percy falls into a chair just as the door swings open and Will greets him, a bright smile on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on in, Perce,” he says, and Percy groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re gonna need a minute,” Nico responds from the chair beside him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are both so fucking lazy,” Will complains. “Nico, seriously?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My <em>thighs</em>, Will.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will walks over and uses one hand each to grab onto Nico’s and Percy’s arms, lifting them to standing. Nico throws himself at his boyfriend, clinging to him like a koala.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I missed you,” he sighs, and Will laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We came into the office together. I saw you 15 minutes ago.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was before I had to climb all those fuckin’ stairs. I’m gonna need double the attention and quadruple the amount of hugs to recover.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will laughs again and wraps his arms around his boyfriend, resting his chin on his head. Percy’s heart warms at the sight of them, so starkly opposite—Nico, pale with dark hair and dark eyes and an even darker wardrobe, Will, tanned with blonde hair and blue eyes and all the looks of someone who belongs on a surfboard. They compliment each other perfectly, not to mention they’re fucking adorable together. Percy’s heart can’t take it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So fucking <em>cute</em>,” Percy says, then crushes them both in a group hug. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, Percy, fuck off,” Nico complains, but he just squeezes them both tighter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Strong grip, Perce!” Will praises. “Have you been exercising at home?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Percy says. “Hazel helps me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t understand how she puts up with you,” Nico grumbles, finally breaking out of Percy’s grasp. “You’re such a beast.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy just smiles and smacks a kiss onto Nico’s forehead, and when Nico grimaces and tries to wipe it off Will gives him a kiss of his own on the nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re wasting precious time here,” Nico says exasperatedly, his cheeks tinting pink. “My coffee is melting. Let’s go do the thing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will grabs Nico’s coffee out of his hand and takes a sip as he leads them inside, then immediately starts coughing and hacking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the fuck is this?” he chokes, nearly throwing the cup back at Nico.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar,” Percy says. “And coffee.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s also some milk, I think,” Nico adds when Will stares at him in disbelief. “For protein!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are an absolute fiend,” Will says. “I thought you promised no more refined sugar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did not promise,” Nico tells him. “I simply lied.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you lie when—when—it’s <em>you</em>. But not me,” he accuses, and Nico shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was for your health,” Nico defends, and both Will and Percy gape at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just takes a long sip of his drink, then smacks his lips together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, refreshing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will flicks him in the forehead and his jaw drops in shock as he takes a seat at one of the exercise machines, completely ignoring the weights. Will just sighs and turns to Percy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna start with stretches?” he asks, and Percy’s eyes widen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. No, Will, no, please—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They start with stretches.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy begins by lying on his stomach as Will gets to work on his right arm and shoulder. It’s not as bad as it usually is, so Percy can actually answer all of Will’s questions. Most of them are routine, asking about weakness, what he’s been struggling with the most, if he’s had any days where he can’t move his arm or leg at all. The conversation turns social as soon as the questionnaire is over and Percy is grateful for the shift—he hates thinking about the possibility that he might be regressing, even if he gets his reassurance at the end. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so upset we missed Piper’s party,” Will laments as he starts to lift Percy’s arm up and towards his back. “I wanted to meet Annabeth so badly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy fixes his eyes on the ground below him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s nice,” he remarks. “Talking’s easy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He steals a glance at Will and Nico to find that they are both staring at him, their mouths hanging open.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” he asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You talked to her?” Nico says. “Like, held a conversation, the whole thing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just a little.” He pauses. “But I saw her. Today. Getting coffee.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And?” Will asks, then pushes Percy’s arm back so far that he yells out in pain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Too—too—too—stop!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will does. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perce, we have to do it,” he says, and Percy shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please. I can’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s rest a second. Tell me about what happened this morning.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s nice,” he repeats lamely, and Nico nearly screeches.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re in love with this <em>stranger,</em>” he exclaims, “and you didn’t even tell us?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not!” Percy defends.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks to Will desperately.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not. Tell him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will purses his lips and turns to Nico.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s not in love with a stranger,” Will says, and Percy exhales a sigh of relief. “He’s in love with Annabeth. She’s Piper’s best friend.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy goes to protest but Will stretches him out again and he is in too much pain to form any cohesive statements. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This shouldn’t hurt so much, Perce,” Will says. “Have you been doing these stretches at home?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sometimes,” he mutters. “A little.” Will gives him a look. “No.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy Jackson!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It hurts!” he complains. “I-I—it’s a lot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, you’re not going to get any better if you don’t put in the work. You know that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just pouts and rests his chin on his arm, waiting for the lecture to be over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nico, can you give us a minute?” Will says, and Nico nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leans down to be eye-level with Percy before he leaves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you so much as think about her without telling me absolutely everything ever again—hey, look at me—me and you? We’re finished, bitch,” he whispers threateningly, and Percy smiles widely. “Do not look at me like that. I’ll make you walk up those stairs again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy just grins and ruffles Nico’s hair and Nico goes to bite at his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, get the fuck outta here,” Will says, pulling Nico up and pushing him along.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nico just keeps staring at Percy, puts two fingers to his eyes and then turns them on Percy in an <em>I’m watching you</em> gesture. Percy blows him a kiss and he looks about ready to explode in outrage before Will pushes him out the door. He spins on Percy, then, and Percy swallows, hating the look of concern on Will’s face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why haven’t you been stretching at home?” Will asks, and Percy sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“’M tired,” he tells him. “Long days.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will knits his eyebrows as he pulls up a seat and sits in front of Percy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean from your commute?” Percy nods. “Perce, you really can’t—it’s affecting your health. It’s getting in the way of your recovery. You can’t keep doing this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love my job,” he says. “I can’t—I need it.” He holds Will’s eyes very seriously. “I need it, Will.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For the money?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, me. <em>I </em>need it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will knits his eyebrows and Percy rests his lips against his arms sadly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, it’s okay,” Will says, reaching out and pushing back Percy’s curls. “I get it. It gives you a sense of purpose. You love what you do. I can relate to that. I love what I do, too.” Percy looks up at him hopefully. “But you can’t let it prevent you from taking care of yourself, Perce. You <em>have </em>to make time. You have to muster up your energy. I know it’s a lot—I know it’s not just the commute. You have to focus so hard and work so much just to do small things. I know that. But it’s not going to get any easier if you don’t practice—it’s only gonna get worse.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy sighs heavily and nods, and Will holds onto his forearms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How about we make a deal. I’ll come over twice a week to help you with your stretches on days when you’re way too tired. But you have to use your days off to stretch on your own. Is that fair?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fair,” he says, and Will smiles a bit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. Now, back to work.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy tries to protest but Will, the rat bastard, already has a grip on his arm from earlier and uses it to his advantage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They finish their stretches.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the end of physical therapy Percy is utterly exhausted, ready to go home and sleep for a few hours. He hates himself for making his speech therapy appointment with Piper so soon after, considers canceling it altogether. Nico must sense his weariness because he offers to grab a quick lunch with Percy and casually mentions that he has the rest of the day free. Percy knows Nico is not one for pity, but he is one for worry, and he does—far too much. If Hazel is overprotective, her brother is ten times worse. Percy knows, though, that it comes from a place of love, and today he’s grateful for the offer because he doesn’t think he has the strength to get through it alone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is tired. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not just the commute. It’s not just the crazy amount of effort he must now put into absolutely everything he does. It’s not the pity or the sympathy or the worry. He is exhausted, and he had been long before he was ever injured. He was tired when he was 10, struggling through school while his mother worked triple shifts so he could have a good education. He was tired when he was 15, and he won his first gold medal. He was tired the morning everything fell apart, exhausted and worn down and wishing that he could just quit. Wishing with everything in him that he could finally stop swimming. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He got his wish.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s never told anyone, because it feels fucking awful to think, but he is grateful for the fact that he never has to worry about training again. Obviously he would prefer swimming to what’s happened to him, but the accident changed his life for the better, in some aspects. He was lost and confused and never knew where he stood, who he was. He only knew the pool, only knew his worth in terms of how far he could go, how fast, how much it might help his mother pay her rent. Early mornings bleeding into late nights, pushing and pushing until his lungs felt like they might explode, until his muscles were so sore he could hardly move. Nonstop, in a constant loop, all the while so fucking exhausted that he couldn’t bring himself to do anything else, to be anyone else.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, at least, he knows who he is. Now, with time and distance and the best people in the world cheering him on, he is stronger than he has ever been. He knows exactly who he is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he is tired. And that fatigue is beginning to bleed into his sense of self, spilling over more and more every day. He does his best to fight it, but there’s only so much he can do. His glass is overflowing but he only has one working hand to stop it. It’s not enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nico pulls him into a ShakeShack and orders two milkshakes and an inordinate amount of food and Percy feels terrible for having gotten lost in his head again. But then Nico offers him a gentle smile, just warm enough to melt through the ice Percy feels starting to freeze around his ribs, and Percy swallows, incredibly grateful for his friend. Nico squeezes Percy’s wrist firmly, holds on tight, and Percy rests his cheek on the top of Nico’s head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment, there’s love and quiet and calm. For a moment, it is all that he needs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s been two weeks since Percy has seen Annabeth. Two weeks since their not-so incidental run-in at the coffee shop. Two weeks of kicking himself for not getting her number when he had the chance, of trying to work up the courage to ask Piper for it, of Googling her in the hopes of learning more about her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s done a lot of Googling. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s not proud of it, but it’s the closest he gets to seeing her, despite the fact that he is seeing a very different her. A younger version of her who he can hardly recognize. Still beautiful, still just as formidable, with the same defiant look in her eyes, the same confident air she exudes now—but different. She was in peak physical condition—incredibly defined abs, strong sinewy muscle taut beneath the tanned skin of her long legs, biceps firm and solid. Everything about her was hard and sharp and cut clean, as if she’d been sculpted of marble. But aside from her physique, she did not look the part of the perfect athlete one bit—dark circles under her eyes, a weariness visible in her every movement, cheeks sunken in and drawn down by a constant frown. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Put frankly, she looked fucking miserable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It makes Percy’s chest ache, thinking about the way she was paraded around with her gold medals, her smile never reaching her grey eyes. Those, at least, have not changed. The one constant he can find between who she was before and who she is now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, she is round all over, her stomach and legs and arms and face. He has never seen a face as round as hers and he cannot get it out of his head even for a second. Full, rosy cheeks, like apples ripe for the picking, the sharpness of her chin made softer by the extra weight. Everything about her now seems so much lighter, healthier—just as strong, but infinitely warmer. More alive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It shows, too, in the way she carries herself. No more dark circles, crinkles around her silvery eyes from her smile, a brightness that seemed not to be there before, a real passion he witnessed the first night they met and he watched her taking in their surroundings on Piper’s roof. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She seems happier, now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cannot be sure, of course, because he knows he seems happier, too. But he’d like to think that she is—he is desperate for it, in fact. He wants so much for her to be happy, for the woman he has met a total of two times to live a life that is full of joy and light and love. He thinks she deserves as much. He thinks she deserves the world.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s all he can think about, in fact, as he watches for the first time the video of her fall on his phone. She has just hit the hurdle that would become her undoing when Percy feels his chair tilt back, and he screams out and grabs at his desk for support. He spins around in his chair to find Clarisse there, laughing heartily, a large paper bag that smells like heaven in her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—you squealed,” she laughs, wiping at her eyes. “Like a little pig.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She becomes hysterical, then, and Percy grumbles and snatches the bag out of her grip, walking out of his office and towards the aquarium. She follows him, still laughing, and they take a seat in front of his favorite patient’s tank—Jackie, a humpback who’d gotten clipped by a cargo ship in New York Harbor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her right fin had been nearly ripped to shreds, along with a massive laceration down her side, but she’s been resilient as ever, has kept holding on. Every day she gets a little bit stronger, and every day he will make sure that she only continues to recover. He promised her, the first time she ever let him feed her, that he would not give up on her. He intends to keep that promise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As he and Clarisse settle down and watch her swim around with a school of endangered fish, she starts pulling out their lunch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What were you watching back there?” she asks, handing him his burrito, and he purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Race,” he tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows and looks up at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your own?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head, considers what he might say. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth’s,” he admits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Honesty’s the best policy, after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks a bit confused for a moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth—? Oh. Annabeth?” He nods, and she raises one eyebrow. “Interesting. How’d you find it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Google.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She snorts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I meant how was she? Fucking unreal, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes widen as he nods and takes his first bite of food.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So fast,” he mumbles around his mouthful of chicken and black beans, and she throws a napkin at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you fucking animal. Were you raised in a barn?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and pushes the tip of his nose upwards, then snorts like a pig.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate your guts,” Clarisse says, but he just smiles and nudges her leg with his foot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You love me,” he tells her. “A lot. I’m—I’m your favorite. Ever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Favorite pain in my ass, maybe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Still favorite.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes and concentrates on her food, but there is a small smile playing at her lips that he cannot miss.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remembers the first time they ever met. Piper’s place, a dinner where she would finally merge her two friend groups into one. He’d only just gotten used to talking in sentences longer than one word, not even six months after the accident. He was still screwing up all of his grammar, still stuttering like crazy, but talking nonetheless. He was an anxious mess, doing his best just to keep it together, and despite the fact that he’d had Hazel by his side it was still all too much for him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He excused himself to go to the bathroom during cocktail hour and forced himself to relax, to breathe. It was when he was was on his way back to the kitchen that he turned a corner and bumped into a burly woman, nearly his height. She had a broad face and broader shoulders and red wine spilled down the front of her shirt because of him. He’d tried to apologize but he was so nervous that no words came out, and she took his silence for disrespect, started to ream into him. It was only when Piper stepped in and explained the situation that she finally calmed down, deflated completely. She had been so apologetic, so ashamed of herself, that she filled up another glass of wine and instructed him to throw it in her face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he’d laughed his ass off. And then she’d laughed her ass off, and she has been his fiercest protector ever since.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s done more for him than she will ever know, really. Every Thursday, she drives him all the way to work, spends the day visiting her grandmother before meeting him for a very late lunch at the end of his shift, and drives him all the way home. The first time she offered he thought he’d gotten lucky—he was so tired of the train already, and it was only his third week of work. The second time, he’d had his suspicions, and he’d outright refused the third, out of stubbornness and worry for the burden he was placing her under. But after a few threats to his life and a reassurance that it was something she actually, truly enjoyed doing, he finally conceded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She truly is heaven-sent, his knight in shining armor, saving him from the burden of a sore ass and an exhausting 7-hour commute. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her. He doesn’t think he does, honestly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He voices this in the best way he can, stumbling on his words a bit, and she glares at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” she says, her voice firm. “Don’t ever say that again. You think that <em>you</em>, the best fucking person in the world, don’t deserve me?” She shakes her head. “You’re a fucking numbskull.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He purses his lips to tamp down his smile and she takes a frustrated bite.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doesn’t deserve me,” she grumbles, her mouth full of guac. “Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs, then, and she continues to glare at him until he nudges her with his foot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you, Rue,” he tells her, and she swallows her food.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, well,” she mutters, then pushes the side of chips they got closer to him. “Eat. You need the energy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stares at him until he rolls his eyes and eats a chip, accepting her offer. She seems satisfied after that, her face softening, and he knows it means more to her than any words ever could. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’s Grover?” she asks. “Haven’t seen him these past two weeks I’ve come.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Canada,” Percy says sadly. “Protests.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you ever get lonely?” she mutters. “I mean—the whales can’t really talk back, can they?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I like it better. Quiet’s nice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you trying to tell me to shut up?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs and nudges her again and she grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me about Jackie,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he knows why she's doing it, knows that she worries about him practicing, so he does. It's the least he can do for her, after all that she has done for him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*** ~ ~ ~ ***</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second Annabeth wakes up to the seizing of her weakened muscle she knows that today will not be her day. She does her best to massage it out, leans down and rubs along the sides of her thigh, down to her knee, around the back, up and down, over and over until the spots dancing in her vision clear, and then some more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wishes, sometimes, that she’d made different choices. She wishes she would have been strong enough to leave before getting a permanent injury that would force her out. She wishes when she got hurt the first time she’d listened—she wishes she was strong enough to stand her ground. She’d been in the best shape of her life—physically, at least. A picture of strength and good health, made possible by her overwhelming urge to be the best, by a strict regimen, structured time and structured food logs and structured <em>everything</em>. She had gotten to a point where she could not remember a time before it, a time before schedules and calorie counting and weigh-ins and training nonstop, for hours on end. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pressure, surrounding her, pushing down on every exposed part of her, suffocating. A number on the scale bigger than yesterday’s, a sharp glare and a pit in her stomach that made her nearly retch. <em>No room for error. Perfection is the standard. Anything less is unworthy of our time</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unworthy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She didn’t mean for it to happen, the first time. She didn’t mean to fall—she’d been exhausted, overworked and underslept and <em>trying</em>. She was trying with everything in her. And then the last hurdle came and she was off—by a centimeter—and nothing was ever the same. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her mother did her best to keep it the same, though. Kept up as if training was normal, as if Annabeth could stand on her own without her crutches, as if the moment she was healed and cleared, she would be back and competing again. She had been so overbearing, so incredibly fucking controlling, every aspect of Annabeth’s life planned and laid out for her without a second thought for what she might have wanted, that Annabeth had snapped. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shouldn’t have done it. She <em>knows</em>. She knows she should have listened and healed properly, should have just stood up to her mother on her own. But after so many years of being under her thumb, she didn’t have the strength. She needed a way out—a <em>permanent</em> way out. A guarantee that she would never be able to compete again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now she is lying in bed massaging out the leg she is responsible for ruining, suffering through a pain that she deserves to feel—for being ungrateful, for being weak and easily manipulated, for not standing her ground. She did this to herself; now she must deal with the consequences.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She manages to swing both her legs over the edge of her bed, leans down and pulls her crutches out from beneath it. She hasn’t needed them in a long while, but then—she hasn’t been working at standing desks and design stations since before she graduated. She’s putting unnecessary pressure on herself, she knows. She could sit, if she wanted to. She could give herself a rest. But she hates the fact that it would set her apart from her colleagues, hates that it might give any indication of her injury.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cannot be seen as weak. She cannot see herself as weak. The last time she did, she ended up with a shattered knee and a hamstring torn to shreds. She cannot be that person, ever again. She cannot let herself get to that point, ever again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>It’s exactly what you’re doing now</em>, she thinks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She ignores herself. Focuses instead on the task at hand: how to sit herself in her tub without completely falling on her ass. She hangs onto the edges of the bath, lowers herself into the hot water and massages peppermint oil into the back of her leg to fight the inflammation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tries to let the aroma quiet her busy mind but try as she might, she is thrown back into her old cycle of thoughts, until her phone rings and she is grateful she brought it into the bathroom with her despite knowing that she’d be too afraid to use it. She reaches above her and dries off her hand on a hanging towel, then picks up her phone to find an unsaved number calling. Immediately, her heart starts racing in her chest. She accepts the call, terrified, doesn’t say a word, waits for the caller to speak first. She does not know what she’ll do if the voice she expects to hear says her name.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Relief floods her chest, and she nearly laughs before confusion overwhelms her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy?” she says, and he makes an affirmative hum. “How’d you get my number?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clears his throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—Piper,” he admits, sounding sheepish. “Sorry, is—is it okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, of course, that’s fine,” she tells him. “What’s up?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a deep breath and she knits her eyebrows, waiting for him to speak. It takes a while, but he eventually gets it out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was just—I’m—park,” he stammers, and she only has more questions now than before. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another steadying breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m going to the park,” he explains, his words coming out a bit more haltingly than usual. “And I thought—you might—do you wanna come? On a walk?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” she says, realization dawning on her. “I would love to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She says it before she can stop herself, before she can remember that today is not a walking day. Today is for resting. She <em>needs</em> to rest, before she ends up worse than before. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s just—I’m having kind of a hard day, with my leg,” she tells him. “I need to give it a rest.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” he says, and she can hear the disappointment in his voice. “Oh, okay.” He pauses. “Do you need something? I can bring you—um—stuff. Soup or ice cream or—stuff.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs a bit, and she wishes, with everything in her, that she could just fucking see him. Because she <em>wants</em> to see him. She wants to be around him. It’s been almost three weeks and she’s been too stubborn to admit it to Piper, but she actually misses his company. And it’s so stupid. It is so fucking stupid. She is 26 and acting like a teenager, pining after someone way too fucking hot for her, but she can’t help it. He’s way too fucking hot. He’s also incredibly kind and warm and gentle, but it’s easier to think about his stupidly beautiful face than all the qualities that make him the perfect companion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just mean I’ll need my crutches,” she says before she can convince herself out of it. “And I guess we won’t be walking much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We don’t have to,” he assures her. “You need rest.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Percy—I want to. Really.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Positive. Where should I meet you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—close. To you.” He pauses, then. “Are you <em>sure</em>? Sure, sure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, Percy, I’m sure, sure,” she tells him. “I want to see you, it’s been too long.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She realizes what she’s said and feels her cheeks heat up, bumps the side of her fist into her forehead. She has literally interacted with him a total of two times, and she’s acting like they’re old friends. What the fuck is wrong with her?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—me, too,” he says. “A long time. Sucks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles widely, then. Considers the fact that what is happening now is not one-sided. Rolls the idea around in her head, latches onto it. A two-way street.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God, she is such a <em>child</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll see you in an hour, then? Near the Met?” she suggests.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You live—?” he nearly chokes. “Uh—okay. Yes. Mhm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gives herself time to soak a little longer, for the peppermint oil and Ibuprofen she’d taken earlier to kick in, and once she’s ready she leans on the tub for support and pulls herself out, putting her weight on her good leg.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">More than what she looks like, more than the weight gain and the self-doubt, she regrets most what she has done to her body. Resents the fact that she cannot so much as get out of the bathtub without incredible effort anymore, that she cannot take part in the things she used to love most. No more runs to alleviate her stress and anxiety, no more long hikes through rough terrain to clear her head, no more mountain climbing or cycling or anything of the sort. She is limited to the park, to elevators and escalators and shoes with support and braces and, on her worst days, crutches. </span>
</p><p class="p1">She just misses it. She misses having those outlets, misses being able to let out all the nervous energy that always buzzed around inside her the way she used to. She can work and she can focus and she can set her mind to difficult tasks, brain games and thoughtful challenges that she needs to solve, but it does not compare to the crunch of gravel beneath her feet as she used to run, to the heaving breaths and sore muscles and the racing of her heart. She wants it back, sometimes. Longs for it like nothing else.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sets those thoughts aside as she finally makes her way out of her apartment and down to the street with her crutches. She has to walk less than a block to meet Percy and when she arrives at the Met she spots him immediately, sitting on the steps with two to-go cups in his hands. He looks unfairly beautiful, his curls wind-swept and longer than they were the last time she saw him, his blue sweater doing wonders for his dark complexion. She wishes she’d put more thought into her outfit when she sees how effortlessly good he looks, but they are both in sweats and hoodies and old, worn-out sneakers, so she doesn’t feel as bad about it. He smiles when he sees her, his grin wide and bright, and walks over to her, lifts his left hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For the first time she notices a large scar on the back of it, thick and jagged, right beneath his knuckles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Coffee,” he tells her, and she feels her heart warm a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you,” she says. “Wanna find a bench or something in the park?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods and they walk down the sidewalk in silence, enter the park as the quiet settles between them. It’s comfortable, forgiving, and when she steals a glance at him she sees that his eyes are fixed carefully on his right hand, as if he’s focusing all of his energy on keeping his grip on the cup. She doesn’t want to distract him, so she waits until he nods over to the first free bench they find on the path and takes the cup from him once her crutches are on the ground in front of her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks,” he says shyly. “Ran out of trays.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She just shakes her head and offers him a smile, and he switches their cups out. She takes a sip of the coffee, shocked to find that it is exactly how she takes it—black, two sugars, French vanilla flavor. She gapes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How did you know my order?” she asks, and his cheeks darken.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I, um—the day. At the café. You said it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t think you’d remember that. It was so long ago.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blushes deeper still, shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good memory. Bad mouth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scrunches up his nose in a grimace when he realizes what he’s said and she laughs, nudges him with her shoulder. He smiles a bit and knocks into her, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How—have—how are you?” he asks, and she inhales deeply.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m okay,” she says, and she means it. “Kind of an off day, but that’s all it is—one day.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows in concern, and she is once again thrown off by how much he seems to care, how much of himself he is already giving to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your leg?” he asks, and she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And my stupid bitch brain,” she tells him, and the corner of his mouth trembles as if he’s trying not to laugh. She smiles widely. “You can laugh. It’s funny.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head, still smiling, and takes a sip of his drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tea with lemon and honey?” she asks, and when he looks at her his eyes may as well be shining.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he says, ducking his head. “Helps my throat.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you sick?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Some days…talking is a lot. So…I don’t. Some days.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How many days at a time?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Depends.” He swallows. “I’m not supposed—I have to talk every day. It’s bad. I just—I get tired.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know what you mean,” she mutters. “I mean—I don’t know what you mean, I obviously can’t completely understand, but—I skip physical therapy sometimes. I don’t do my exercises. I get tired, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He holds her eyes, staring into them as if he’s trying to look into her mind, so intensely that she has to avert her gaze, can’t handle it any longer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry you get tired,” he mutters. “Sucks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It does suck.” She elbows him gently. “I’m sorry, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles at her a bit and sips his tea once more and she watches his side-profile as he looks at the people passing by, watches the way he hunches over his cup, the anxious bouncing of his left leg, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. She wishes she could capture him on paper, sketch him—he is sharp angles and soft edges together in one, wide open space, a billion moments collected in time. He is absolutely everything, and no part of her thinks she or anyone else is capable of truly making him known. He is so fucking alive, and that is the only way he can ever be viewed—no still image will ever do him justice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As he leans back into the bench and offers her a coy smile her mind goes back to what she has seen of him, things that he has never shown her. She feels horribly guilty for it, shame washing over her in a wave so sudden that she’s taken off-guard. She should tell him. She should be honest and let him know the truth—she watched that awful video, and plenty more, and now it’s eating her alive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have to apologize for something else,” she says, biting the inside of her cheek, and he knits his eyebrows in confusion as he looks her over, tilts his head questioningly. “I, uh—oh God. Okay. I’m so sorry. I just—I watched it. I didn’t mean to, really, I was just looking at old races and—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His mouth quirks up in a smile and it makes her stop in her tracks. She frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you smiling?” she asks, and he grins a bit wider.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Old races?” he says. “You Googled me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She feels her face burning worse than ever before and he laughs hard, throwing his head back. She wishes she could disappear, erase his memory, anything at all, but she is stuck on this bench with him as he laughs his ass off at her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She bristles suddenly, can’t believe how rude he is being—she is obviously mortified, and all he can do is laugh in her face. She feels her defenses coming up, squares her shoulders and holds her chin up a little higher as her stomach tightens into a knot, burning in the worst way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m out of here,” she says, leaning down to grab her crutches, and he stops, looks at her in confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait—why?” he asks, and she gapes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re sitting there just—laughing at me. As if I’m a joke to you or something. I don’t think it’s funny.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes widen and he reaches out and holds her arm, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No! No—I—it wasn’t—no, w-wait.” He swallows and takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I'm sorry. I just—I did it. I—Google. I did it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She feels the blood starting to leave her face, then, feels the sick twist of her stomach loosen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” she asks, just because she needs to be sure.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blushes as deeply as she had been earlier.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I watched—a lot. I saw a lot. I—it was funny. I did it, too. It’s why I laughed—I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a deep breath, then, forces herself to relax, tries to force her walls back down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They do not budge.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You Googled me, too? And that’s why you were laughing?” He nods vigorously, and she purses her lips. “That’s a terrible invasion of privacy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gives her a look, raises one eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes and sits back in her seat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine, we’re both shitty,” she says, and he looks like he’s having trouble tamping down his smile. “What now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hypocrite.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He says it teasingly, with a nudge, and she is stubborn as anything, but not enough to deny that they are at the same level, here. They are both wrong.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, that’s something Google can’t tell you,” she remarks, and he smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grins a bit, against her will, because his smile is fucking contagious, and she is a weak bitch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” he repeats. “Honest.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily, then, and rolls her head to look at him. He is looking at her hopefully, eyebrows raised and furrowed together, a little bit of fear in his bright eyes. She offers him a little smile to try to alleviate it, feels a bit guilty that she’s the reason it’s there to begin with.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay. I did it, too.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pauses, then, runs her thumb over the rim of her cup, traces the path with her eyes. She is suddenly hyperaware of the difference between what she used to look like and what she looks like now, of how starkly opposite the two images of her are.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’d you even recognize me,” she mutters, trying for humor and falling incredibly short.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Same eyes,” he tells her, and she looks up at him, narrows them. “Grey but—shiny.” He knits his eyebrows like he can’t believe he’s forgotten the word. “Um—not gold. Not gold.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks at her desperately, waiting for her to find the word for him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Silver.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods, a look of relief washing over his features.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Silver,” he repeats. “Silver.” He scrunches up his nose a bit as he smiles, a quirk of his she truly cannot get enough of. “Beautiful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not as beautiful as gold.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is. Gold—it’s just—different. Not better and not worse. Gold is like—by itself, it’s—silver <em>is</em> beautiful. Um—hard. No. Not hard.” He frowns again and sighs heavily. “Strong. Sharp. Bright.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He winces as if what he’s just said has pained him, and all she can do is stare at him in awe. He ducks his head sheepishly and she has a sudden and overwhelming urge to kiss him. How the fuck someone as thoughtful as him can exist, she has no idea, but he does, and she cannot wrap her mind around the fact that he is sitting here beside her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before Annabeth can do anything she might regret, she hears a gasp to the left of her, and she and Percy both turn to the source of the noise: that fucking girl from the coffee shop. Annabeth feels her stomach drop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh no,” she mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit, that is Percy fucking Jackson,” the girl says, her massive eyes wider than Annabeth has ever seen them. “Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase and—come <em>on</em>! You’re telling me it’s a coincidence that we’re running into each other again? On the complete opposite side of the city? This is fate, dude, this is—it’s—it’s—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kismet,” Percy says, and Annabeth gapes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t know the word silver but you manage to find kismet just fine?” she whispers furiously, and his jaw drops in offense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kismet!” the girl exclaims, then comes closer, looks to Percy. “Hi, I’m really so sorry to bother you I know this is super insane and I never would have imagined it happening but—you’re so fucking cool, dude, I’m like—oh shit, I’m a little bit in love with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy stares at her, his mouth twisted up in a way Annabeth has never seen before. She realizes then that he probably did not get a single word of what the girl said, and she bites the inside of her cheek.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re talking too fast,” she tells the girl quietly. “Slow down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows in confusion and turns to Percy, who seems extremely uncomfortable. He’s not making eye contact with either of them, his hands gripping his cup tightly. Annabeth feels a wave of sympathy overcome her, but she forces it back. He does not want sympathy—he wants honesty. He wants to understand what is happening.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, so, funny story,” Annabeth begins, holding onto his arm and trying to get him to look at her. “I ran into—um—” She stops and turns to the girl. “I never got your name.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nawra,” she says, stepping forward. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles at Percy sheepishly, gives her speech slowly, clearly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m Algerian—like you. Well—not like you, you're Palestinian, but—we just, we're both very obviously SWANA and—I just—it’s so cool to see, you know? I never thought—I don’t know. You know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gapes at Nawra with her mouth half-open, totally lost, but Percy’s face softens as he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” he tells her, and she swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth fixes her blank stare on Percy. How the fuck did he get anything comprehensible out of anything Nawra just said? Annabeth feels like her own head is spinning in the wake of the kid’s chaotic ass monologues.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, Percy, for the sake of our people,” she begins slowly, “I think that you should let me interview you. It’s a school project, but it could have real reach. Think about it: I’ve never really seen someone like me in a position like yours before. Imagine how many kids could look up to you, you know? I mean,<em> I</em> did—I do. I look up to you. I think you’re a fuckin’ star. I am seriously starting to question my asexuality just standing here right now—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, I think he gets it,” Annabeth cuts in, and Nawra flattens her lips together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” Percy says, looking at Nawra. “Interviews—” He shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She deflates so much that Annabeth starts to feel bad for her, despite how annoying her persistence in the matter is. She’s been messaging Annabeth’s old official account nonstop for the past few weeks, sending updates and mood-boards and ‘imagine this’ prompts. It’s been driving Annabeth up the fuckin’ wall, nearly drove her to delete the account entirely, but she can’t help but respect the kid’s perseverance. It’s almost endearing. <em>Almost</em> being the keyword.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a deep breath, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen. Just—fuck. Ugh. I cannot believe—my coffee is <em>cold</em>.” She takes another deep breath as both Nawra and Percy stare at her, similar wide-eyed expressions and trembling lower lips. “I want a detailed project plan sent to me in two weeks’ time, do you understand me? I want an outline, I want an annotated bibliography—I want the friggin’ <em>works</em>, alright? I also want a list of questions you’d be asking, I want to know how they’re relevant to your project, and I want you to stop sending me newspaper headlines about me from four years ago. Do I make myself clear?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra grimaces, confusion written plainly on her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, are these conditions? Are you agreeing to do this?” she asks, and Annabeth sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m agreeing as long as I find that the materials you send my way are suffic—oof.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gets the wind knocked out of her when Nawra throws her arms around her and squeezes her hard, screaming about how excited she is. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit this is the best day of my life!” she yells, Annabeth squirming as Percy watches in a mix of shock and horror.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She releases Annabeth and turns to Percy, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy—I mean—Mr. Jackson—I mean—my brother in resistance—” the corners of Percy’s mouth quirk upwards, an amused smile playing at his lips, “—I would be honored if you would agree to the interview, too. I know you said you can’t talk, which—super sorry about that, by the way, that video seriously looked brutal—but maybe your friend can help you. You two seem pretty in tune.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy and Annabeth both straighten simultaneously, lean a bit closer towards each other. They look at each other, recognize what they are doing, and scoot back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re friends,” Annabeth says needlessly, risks a glance at Percy to find that he seems to be having trouble tamping down a smile. “Oh, fuck off,” she grumbles, which only makes his grin widen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe,” he says carefully, like he can’t be sure of his answer himself. “I-I don’t know. Maybe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks like she wants to say more but Annabeth shakes her head and Nawra backs down, nodding.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” she relents. “Maybe is better than no. I’ll take it.” She pauses. “Can I get an <em>inshAllah</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs heartily, then, from his belly, and she smiles widely. She clasps her hands together, then, rocks back and forth on her heels, and Percy and Annabeth stare at her, waiting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nice day out, huh?” she says, and Percy looks about ready to burst out laughing once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You run?” he asks her, nodding to her obvious workout gear, and she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe you should get back to it,” Annabeth suggests not-so-subtly, and Nawra flattens her lips together and nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right. Yes. Totally. So sorry to bother you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns to Percy, then, and bows her head a bit, says something in what Annabeth assumes in Arabic. He laughs fully, down from the bottom of his belly, and she grins widely and looks at Annabeth hopefully, as if to say <em>I think he likes me</em>, and then waves at them and jogs off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is still laughing once she’s out of sight, and he wipes at his eye a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I like her,” he says, and Annabeth purses her lips to try and hold back her smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s a lot,” she remarks, looking down the path Nawra just ran down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Passionate,” Percy corrects, and Annabeth looks at him. He grins and nudges her. “She can do the Olympics.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s smile breaks through, then, and she laughs a bit along with him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They should get her for 2024, huh? She could carry the torch,” she says, and he laughs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh—I wanna ask—do you—when you feel better—museum—me and you and—um—fuck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles a bit and he looks away from her, rubs at the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” he mutters, looking down at his lap, and she knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why do you always apologize?” she asks. “You don’t have to do that. You have nothing to apologize for.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks up at her and purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bad habit. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gives him an exasperated look, nearly laughing at his absurdity, and he grins sheepishly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And I’d love to, by the way. Do the museum thing,” she tells him, and he raises his eyebrows hopefully. “Me and you and Um Fuck. You’ll have to introduce, us, though, we’ve never met.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grins and nudges him and he smiles so brightly it nearly blinds her. This time, she smiles right back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A two-way street.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Recap of chapter 2 if you skipped the last section: Annabeth is dealing with her chronic pain from her injury, it is implied that she re-injured herself purposefully so she would not have to compete anymore, she and Percy run into Nawra (the girl from the coffee shop from chapter 1) at the park and Annabeth conditionally agrees to the interview (Percy is on the fence about it)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Few things to note:<br/>-Chapter deals with body image issues, systemic and individual fatphobia, implied forced dieting, implied emotional manipulation (in both of Annabeth's sections, the second and fourth sections of this chapter)<br/>-There are brief and vague references to past domestic abuse at the very beginning of Percy's first section<br/>-These topics will remain ongoing themes throughout the story but I'll still let you know each time<br/>-There's like a tiny bit of innuendo that's a lil inappropriate in the second section (Annabeth's first section) during her very first conversation with Piper so tread lightly kids<br/>Thanks so much for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Try as he might, Percy simply cannot remember a time before Hazel was in his life. He wracks his brain, searching for his earliest memories, but she is present in each and every one. Despite the fact that he <em>knows</em> he once existed in the world without her, he can’t bring himself to believe it. He was only four when they were brought into each other’s lives, after all—anything before it means nothing to him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Two single mothers and their young children, a one-bedroom apartment in Harlem, two mattresses on a cold wooden floor, one broken heater, three faulty taps, one empty fridge. They lived that way for nearly a year, and then the empty fridge slowly started to fill up, the mattresses found a home in two sturdy bed frames, and the radiator finally turned back on to heat the cold floor—all because of a man with a charming smile and a hidden heavy hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His mother had no other choice. It was a massive sacrifice, made for his sake. So that he could have a warm bed and clean running water and food to eat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The guilt used to eat him alive. It still does, sometimes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He has to remind himself that she is safe now, that no harm will come to her, ever again. She is safe, and she is healthy and happy and never has to worry about sacrificing herself for his sake, ever again. He made sure of it the second he won his first gold medal. He’s made sure of it every day since.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Sally fuckin’ Jackson. It’s always been Sally Jackson. She is the reason Hazel is here beside him, why she has always been beside him, even when they were hundreds of miles apart. She is the reason he is certain, above all else, that he and Hazel will remain this way for the rest of their lives. Sally and Marie taught Percy and Hazel, above all else, how to love someone with your whole heart. How to be there, how to never give up on the ones you love, how to make them <em>feel</em> that love. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a lesson he will never forget. He makes sure of it every day. A cup of coffee in the morning—mocha creamer, so much the cup nearly overflows, and three heaping spoons of sugar. A tug on a loose curl—always too long, always growing in faster than he can help. A flick on the ear—her left, his right, practice and love wrapped into one. A sharp look—frustration born from fierce affection, only ever wanting the other to take care, to be safe.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A million ways to say a word that Percy could not speak for months. Overwhelming fear from him, complete and utter calm from her. Three taps on his wrist, quick, right on the bone. He tapped back with his left hand until she made him use his right. Another way to tell him exactly what she meant, even as he was trying his best to tell <em>her</em>. Hazel knew. She has always known. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s never had to worry about that part; they were taught well. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t worry about it now, as he trips her from behind and she nearly face-plants into his mother’s apartment door. The loud bang her collision makes causes Sally to call out for them to come on in—the door is always open. She punches him in the arm hard before throwing the door open and crying out to Sally that Percy is “oppressing” her, and he rolls his eyes and bends his knees into the back of hers so that her legs give out under her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She glares up at him from the floor and he sticks his tongue out at her as he shuts the door behind him, walks further into the apartment to find his mom.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mama?” he calls from the kitchen island, and she sticks her head out of her bedroom door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Be right there, <em>hayati</em>,” she says, her long, black curls swinging around as she pops her head back inside. “No Arabic today!” she calls. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He groans loudly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But—but—<em>Mamaaaaa</em>,” he whines, and Hazel finally gets her revenge when she kicks him in the ass hard enough for him to lurch forward onto the island.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He whirls around to whack her but his mom enters right in time and Hazel runs past him to throw herself into Sally’s arms. His mother is dressed for the job they have to do, her hair pulled back from her face with an old bandana, her favorite ratty overalls thrown over an already paint-stained shirt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mama, help me, Percy keeps hitting me!” Hazel exclaims, clinging to his mother, and his jaw drops in shock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You <em>kicked </em>my <em>ass</em>,” he says, and Sally tuts her tongue and shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You two are horrible,” she tells them. “You’re grown adults, fighting like children. Grow up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy pouts and Hazel sighs and releases her. Percy shoves her out of his way and clings to his mother tightly, and she hugs him just as closely, rubs his back in slow circles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sally, I really need you to know that Percy started it—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulls back from his mother to interrupt her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, fuck you—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Enough!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both freeze in their places and stare at her with wide eyes, and she shakes her head at them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel—help me move the couch. Percy—get the paint from the closet. Both of you—no looking at each other.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They do as she says, grumbling about it as they go. Percy flips Hazel off behind Sally’s back and her jaw drops in shock but Sally stops her with a raised hand and she purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll get him back,” Sally assures Hazel as he passes behind them. “Have patience.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Put ExLax in his <em>shai</em>, Sally,” Hazel says loudly, and he sticks his tongue out at her and moves to the closet to grab the paint and brushes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His mother has gone through about ten different wall colors in the past three years, constantly flip-flopping between her decisions. In the beginning it was just variants of whites and creams, but she went through a horrible forest green phase, had a very odd stretch where her living room was baby pink with a magenta trim, and kept a truly awful mauve until she finally found her way back to eggshell. Now she is convinced that her newest choice is the one for her: a lilac color that she mixed with a dash of white herself to mute it down even more. Percy brings out the paints, rollers, brushes, and tape and helps his mother and Hazel lay down the tarp to protect her carpet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His mother switches on her old CD player, the mixtape he made her when he was younger blasting from the speakers, and Percy smiles widely. A mixture of all the music she ever taught him to love, from Umm Kulthum to Wham! to Rage Against the Machine. A chaotic fucking maelstrom of sound that knew not the constrictions of genre. Percy sings along with George Michael absolutely terribly as he sets to work on the ceiling with the taller roller brush while his mother and Hazel tape the outlets and window panes, dancing as they work. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sight of them hitting the high note of the song’s chorus and using their tape as microphones warms his sorry heart, reminds him of the best of his childhood, the moments of peace they found when it was just the three of them together. He is infinitely grateful for the fact that it can continue now, unrestricted by fear and uncertainty, by his old step-father’s schedule, by Hazel’s estranged family demanding her time. Now, with the three of them here, their little family is nearly complete, missing only Marie and Nico. Despite their absence, it still feels whole, right—any time he gets to spend with his family always fills him up, warms him down to the marrow of his bones. It’s like he’s made of love, buzzing, glowing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It feels like finding a patch of sunshine on a cold day; it’s where he belongs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy realizes after more than half the ceiling is done that the kitchen and entryway are both open and connected to the living room (and each other), so he stops what he’s doing to look at his mother.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Purple kitchen?” he asks, and she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Purple everything, baby,” she responds, facing the wall. She turns to look at him over her shoulder. “<em>Blue</em> pancakes for a job well done.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises his eyebrows excitedly, holds her eyes to try to ask if she’s serious, and she nods once, shutting her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel—straight lines!” he yells, and she flicks some paint at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t tell me how to do my job, bitch,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes his roller and reaches across the room to paint a stripe up her back, stopping right before her neck so he won’t get any in her braids, which are wrapped up into a large top-knot, and she gasps as she turns around to look at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy Jackson, you <em>fuckface</em>!” she yells. “I’m so sick of this!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She picks up her roller tray and runs at him, and his eyes widen in shock. He tries to stop her with his brush but she’s too fast and the roller is too long so he can’t do very much in the way of maneuvering. She flips the tray on top of his head and rubs it down his shirt and he sputters, trying to prevent the paint from entering his mouth as it drips down his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What—the—<em>shit</em>!” he yells, and she cackles triumphantly as Sally sighs heavily in resignation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Serves you right, you dusty bitch,” Hazel says, wiping her hands off, and he narrows his eyes at her. Hers widen a fraction. “Percy, don’t,” she warns. “Don’t you dare come near me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a step back and he drops his roller to run at her as she screams and runs for Sally. He grabs her into a hug before she can duck for cover and rubs his hair all over her face as she squeals and tries to break free of his grasp, but she gets him when she jabs at his weak arm and his grip slackens. After that, all that’s left is full-out war.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the end of it, all three of them are covered head-to-toe in Sally’s beloved lilac paint while her ceiling and two walls are only half-finished. They look between each other and Sally sighs heavily. Her hair is streaked purple after she was caught in the cross-fires of Percy and Hazel’s battle—it was her decision to join in to get her revenge, though. That’s why nearly her entire face is painted purple, her dark brown skin only visible in tiny patches.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe pale lilac’s not for me after all,” she says, looking around the room with her hands on her hips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They all look around, taking in the mess they’ve made. Percy’s eyes are drawn in particular to some splatters on the wall opposite to where he’s standing and he grins and dips his hand in some paint.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, no more!” Sally exclaims, and he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He walks over to the wall and presses his paint-covered hand to it, then steps back and raises his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ffffff-ffffff—” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs heavily through his nose and gives his mother a pained look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Finger-paint?” she suggests, and he nods enthusiastically. She purses her lips. “Whoever does the best wins a lifetime supply of my love and affection.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel snorts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Better get to work, Percy, we all know <em>I</em> already have that,” she says haughtily, so he dips the back of his hand in some paint and presses his knuckles and raised middle finger against the wall.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She giggles, covering her mouth, then looks angry that he made her break.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, fuck you,” she says. “Don’t distract me with your bullshit. You’re going down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, what do I get if I win?” Sally complains.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy won’t ever call again, just like you wanted,” Hazel says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel will eat my—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sally cuts him off with a warning glare and he pouts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe you both leave me alone,” she suggests, and their jaws drop in offense. She grins, wagging her finger in the air. “Yes. I like that idea.” She claps her hands twice, quickly. “Chop-chop, people, let’s get to work. No time to waste!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite the fact that they each have their own wall Percy moves over to sit next to his mother. She seems to be busy painting a field of flowers, all the same exact color and shade, and he grins and kisses the top of her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Quit distracting me,” she says, elbowing him gently, and he huffs and throws himself across her lap. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes her paint-dipped finger and draws a mustache over his stubbly upper lip, and he grins as she smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re—a child,” he tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So are you,” she defends, going back to painting the wall.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He adjusts so that only his head is in her lap and paints absent-mindedly on the wall with his left hand, not even bothering to look. Instead, his attention is drawn out the window to the view outside, brick buildings and high-rises obstructed by the trees. She starts running her free hand over his hair soothingly, and he exhales a breath of relief, the way he always does when she is near, when he can be certain of her safety, when she can be certain of his. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s an unspoken tension that has rested between them ever since his accident, a push and pull of worry, fear, frustration, remorse. She frets over him, he worries about her stressing herself out, she pushes and pushes and pushes to take care of him, to make sure he is taking care of himself, he feels a wave of irritation overwhelm him. Until he pulls back. Until he removes himself far enough from her that he can clear his head, remind himself that she is doing it out of love, and the shame crashes over him. It’s just like Hazel’s gentle taps, her earnest looks, her pressured squeeze of his wrist. His mother just shows it differently—check-ins, a bit (a lot) of nagging, inquisitive looks. Their relationship has improved tremendously over the past three years, but Percy is certain that all the stress has taken its toll on her, and he wants, with everything in him, for her to be able to let go. To live her life free of his burden. Free of him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Like the tides as they ebb and flow, so too do Sally and Percy, moving with every bit of anxiety, every ounce of anger or concern or disquiet, all of which are born from love. It’s only ever been love; that’s what it always comes back to, in the end. And he knows this, so he relents, as much as he can allow himself to. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, <em>hayati</em>?” Sally asks him quietly, and he nods, looking up at her, overwhelmed with regret and gratitude and everything in between.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How could he ever repay her for all that she has done for him?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sunny,” he tells her instead, and as she smiles like she’s never been happier, he thinks this might be the closest he can get.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the beginning, when he was only just getting his vocabulary back, he had trouble expressing himself, what he was feeling. His mother had gotten him a set of giant emotion cards, any and every feeling imaginable both written and represented by a symbol that Percy would point at with his good hand. There were no happy or sad faces, no faces at all—all of them were weather-related, and it was the dumbest fucking thing in the world, but it helped. It still helps him sometimes now, when he gets angry with himself or frustrated in general and has trouble getting the words out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me, too, <em>habibi</em>,” she tells him and kisses his paint-stained forehead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No Arabic today—why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel told me you’ve only been speaking to her in <em>3arabee</em>, lately. You’re cheating, Percy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“T-t-tattle-tale,” he calls out, and Hazel grunts in response.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the matter?” Sally asks him. “Why haven’t you been speaking English?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How come I have to?” he complains. “<em>3arabee</em> is so easy. How come I can’t—just—speak it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because you wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone except me, Hazel, and Abu Ibrahim from the bodega on 106th,” his mother deadpans, and he sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” he mutters, and she gives him a hard look. “Maybe—let’s move. <em>3Amman</em> is nice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She whacks him on the head and he tuts his tongue.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mama,” he whines.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be ridiculous. We left <em>3Amman</em> a long time ago. This is home now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Home is—family,” he argues.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And our family is here,” she says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine,” he grumbles. “Assimilate.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sally raises her eyebrows at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper’s word of the day?” she asks, and he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fits good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fits well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Swell."</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">She rolls her eyes at him, grinning, and he longs to tell her about his week, to speak to her in the language she raised him with without having to worry about his stuttering or his weak vocabulary or his buffering mind as it draws up constant blanks. </span> <span class="s1">He shuts his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, reminds himself that she is doing this for his own good. She is preventing him from taking the easy way out, from falling onto coping mechanisms that were only ever meant for the short-term. It’s been nearly three years. He should know better by now.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he does, really. He knows better. But knowing something and following through, actually doing it, are two very different things. Percy finds that the disconnect between the two has only been growing larger lately. He just can’t stop it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s like losing his grip on a helium balloon and doing his best to grab for it, chasing it as far as he can, until it’s totally out of reach. He runs and runs, jumping, stretching his arm out, but for the life of him, he can’t get a hold of the string. All he can do is watch as it floats away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wishes he could explain this in any real sense, wishes he could get out all the words he’s thinking right now. Instead, he sits up and uses both his left and right hands to paint a balloon floating up towards a storm-cloud. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sunny with a chance of rain. Maybe more like a hurricane, but sunny nonetheless, he supposes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When his mother says, “pancake break?” it becomes all the more simple a fact to focus on. The threat of a storm is looming over his head, ever-present, becoming more and more insistent as the days pass, but goddamn it, it’s not raining yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He still has time to buy himself an umbrella.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Annabeth is startled awake by the sound of her phone ringing, the first thought in her mind is that she is late. Training started an hour ago, she was meant to be awake by now, and she is so fucking late. She jolts up in bed, picks up the phone immediately, mumbling apologies into it, but all she hears is Piper screaming the words “GOOD DAY” into her ear repeatedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows in confusion and holds the phone away from her ear, looks at the time. It is 5:30 a.m. on a Wednesday, she is 26 years old, she is not in the Olympics, and she doesn’t have to be awake for another hour.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is going to kill Piper.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper, <em>what the fuck</em>?” she demands through grit teeth. “I was <em>sleeping</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Too bad bitch!” Piper shouts. “It’s a good day! Pack your sunscreen, throw on your favorite swimsuit, we’re going to the fuckin’ beach!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth is as confused as ever, her entire face twisted up into a bewildered grimace.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the fuck are you talking about? I have work in two hours,” Annabeth says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t, because Reyna’s your boss, it’s a good day, and we’re all going to the fucking beach. Come on, Chase, keep up!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you—Piper, none of those words you just said make any sense. I’m so confused. Use...human tongues.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper groans as if this is the most daunting task she can possibly imagine.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you <em>looked</em> at the group-chat, you would see that Percy has texted, in all caps, all by himself, that today is a good day. This means his muscles are strong and ready, and he needs to swim in the ocean. This means we’re going, all of us, his friends, to fucking Montauk, because he does not have many good days and he cannot pass up this opportunity. Do you understand now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He can still swim?” she asks. “It’s not, like—dangerous?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It would’ve been if it was 6 months after his accident. But the three-year anniversary is coming up, he has gotten the OK from his physical therapist, he feels strong and stable, and it’s our job to support him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, God,” she mutters. “Do I have to shave?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Only if you want to. All your hairs are blonde, anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, let’s not have this discussion right now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go fuck yourself, go fuck yourself, go <em>fuck yourself</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper cackles maniacally, and Annabeth wonders how it’s possible that she has so much energy so early in the morning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve never been so tired in my life,” Annabeth groans, collapsing back onto her pillows, the threat of falling back asleep extremely dangerous as she shuts her eyes and feels her body get lighter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth, <em>no.</em> Sit up! Think about shirtless Percy! Think of all you’ll be missing!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raises her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm,” she hums.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, yes, she awakens,” Piper says, and Annabeth can hear her ruffling through her drawers as they speak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As if she can read Annabeth’s mind, the next thing Piper says is: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“By the way, you should totally wear that two-piece I got you that makes you look like a fucking goddess. You know the bikini one with the green and grey and the bottoms are—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“All the way up my ass every time I move? No thanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! What about the 1950s ruffly one? I <em>love</em> that one,” she exclaims, and Annabeth purses her lips in thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm. The high-waisted bottoms and the blue and white?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes! I would literally let you fucking murder me for a chance to see you in it, you always look like a goddamn model when you wear it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It makes my thighs look fat,” she says, and Piper makes an indignant noise in the back of her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It does <em>not</em>!” she objects. “What does it even matter? Do you feel good when you wear it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” she mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then fuck the rest. As long as you’re comfortable and happy, that’s all that matters.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I suppose,” Annabeth sighs, and Piper groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, I literally just told you to take my life because you’re so overwhelmingly sexy and all I get is an<em> I suppose</em>? I really deserve better than you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do,” Annabeth muses. “But where will you find someone to hit on non-stop who won’t just fall in love with you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, you’re right,” she sighs. “Guess I’m stuck with you. The hottest woman on the face of the—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m hanging up now,” Annabeth interrupts. “What time do I have to be ready?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have less than an hour.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth groans heavily and Piper hangs up without saying so much as a goodbye. She throws the covers off herself, groans some more as she stands and stretches, lifting her arms up high above her head, her fingers locked together. Reaching for the stars, which are probably still visible considering the sun hasn’t even risen yet. Fuckin’ Percy and his fuckin’ muscles. His strong, shapely muscles that, if she’s honest, aren’t even that large or impressive, but are fuckin’ incredible nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hates him just a little bit. Shouldn’t he have just become a big ball of flab after everything? Shouldn’t his muscles have atrophied or shouldn’t he at least have gained <em>some </em>weight from the lack of training? How is he not only skinny, but <em>muscular</em>? It’s so unfair. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily as she flicks on her bedroom light, observes the reflection before her in the full-body mirror. A face that changed gradually with time, with injury and healing and injury and healing once more. Now, still healing, still growing, still coming into her own—massive cheeks, a double chin, a crease in her neck, nearly every bit of definition she used to have gone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When it first started, when her face first began to fill out, she would look at herself and try to reconcile who she was in the moment with who she used to be. It was jarring, of course, to go from rock-solid muscle to the squishy softness of fat. It had been difficult to come to terms with—at times difficult enough to drive her to self-isolation, to hide herself away from the world. She didn’t want to be seen, by anyone. She wanted to hole away, protected from the gaze of those she was sure would judge her, think her less worthy. Mostly, she was hiding from herself. From the awful fears she had internalized after years of being forced to diet, to train nonstop, to <em>watch her weight</em>. She was terrified of all the wrong things, for all the wrong reasons. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But, as Piper reminded her, the weight she was putting on meant something significant. It meant she was free, now, free of suffocating rigidity, of the heavy pressure that pushed her to the edge, of her mother’s harsh criticism, her withering glare. After that, it became easier to accept. Her insecurities threatened to overwhelm her at times, and they still do now, but for the most part, she is grateful. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she is not being judged by her physicians or told that her pain would lessen if she’d lose weight or inundated with messages that try to convince her that her past self was inherently more worthy, <em>healthy</em>, she can afford to feel that gratitude. On days like today, when she can look at the stretch marks on her hips and thighs and belly, at the dimpled surface of her stomach, cellulite and lines from where it folds when she sits, she can accept the fact that <em>this </em>is the healthiest she has ever been. That there had never been a time when she was so emotionally stable and sound before she put on her weight. That she is the best version of herself now, that after all was said and done, she had managed to make it to the other side despite all the toxic shit holding her back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes trail down to the stretch marks on the insides of her thighs, extremely visible to her even in the dull light of her room. She purses her lips, reminds herself that it is natural, that many people have them, that all they represent is growth. But her legs <em>are </em>larger than they’ve ever been, and her belly <em>does</em> seem bigger than it did a few weeks ago. She has a fleeting thought, then, the sudden urge to cancel, not to show up—she could just stay inside. It would be easier than having to face the world, wouldn’t it? To sleep and stay warm, safe, hidden.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As if the universe is trying to stop her before those thoughts can become any more dangerous, her phone starts blaring loudly, enough to break her out of her reverie. She frowns when she sees Reyna’s name flash across the screen, clears her throat as she answers, not sure whether it’s a business call or a mutual friend call, and braces herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello?” she says, her tone professional.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, fuck off, that’s not what this is,” Reyna says, and Annabeth exhales heavily in relief, plopping onto her bed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank God. I never know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry. I am using my work phone, aren’t I?” She pauses. “Anyway, I take it you’ll be calling in sick today?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will, yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So I <em>will </em>be seeing you at the beach? For sure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, yes? Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna exhales heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great.” Her voice gets distant, then. “Tell the 13-year-old that his crush will be joining us today, will you?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She comes back clearer, and Annabeth grins widely, biting the inside of her cheek. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my, did you hear that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I get it,” she laughs. “You’re all terrible.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you two are the ones acting like children,” Reyna grumbles. “I’m just the messenger, for some stupid reason.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper has been banned from match-making,” Annabeth explains, knowing immediately that is the <em>only </em>reason she’s not the one double-checking Annabeth’s status right now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah,” Reyna breathes in recognition. “That explains it. Anyway, work talk is banned today. As far as I’m concerned you have the flu or mad cow disease or whatever, I don’t care, take your pick. Just make sure you call the secretary so nobody thinks there’s any favoritism happening.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Got it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hangs up, once again without bothering to say goodbye, and Annabeth sighs heavily. She’s locked herself into this now—there is no turning back. All that’s left to do is pull on that swimsuit—which she really does love, she reminds herself—and pack her bags. She takes one last look at her reflection, scrunches up her face in determination, and flips herself off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go fuck yourself, idiot,” she mumbles harshly. “You’re being dumb. You’re so fucking hot it’s disgusting.” She nods once, her middle finger still in the air, and drops her arm down, having successfully bullied herself into gaining back her confidence. “Dumb bitch. Serves you right.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth doesn’t actually intend to fall asleep on the ride there, but when she sees Leo curled up, snoring away, and hears Piper’s calming voice telling her she can sleep if she wants to, her body betrays her mind and she knocks the hell out. Before she knows it she is waking to the sight of Piper’s face far too close to hers for comfort. She pulls back, looking at Piper cross-eyed, and her best friend grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s about time, Sleeping Beauty,” she says. “We have arrived.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We—um, ugh—beach?” Annabeth mumbles, rubbing at her eyes, and Piper nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, ma’am. Welcome to Montauk.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth groans as she sits up, and she stretches her neck and rolls her shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry I fell ’sleep,” she says, then yawns, and Piper laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine. You’re cute when you can’t talk and be a massive bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth scowls at her and Piper kisses her nose and climbs out of the car.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on, everyone’s waiting.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Including P—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, fuck off,” Annabeth grumbles as she gets out of the car, tripping and nearly falling flat on her face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper breaks her fall and she laughs wildly as she helps Annabeth get her balance back. Annabeth hefts her bag up her shoulder and lifts her chin as Piper continues cackling like the evil witch she is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, you’re the worst,” Annabeth says, shoving on her sunglasses, and Piper sighs and throws her arm around Annabeth’s waist.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah, you love me. Let’s go find your boyfriend before you give yourself a concussion.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Refusing to dignify Piper’s comment with a response, Annabeth walks forward, trailing behind the giant group of friends she recognizes as Piper’s family. Despite the fact that she knows Reyna and Clarisse fairly well, and has been exchanging conspiracy theories with Leo nonstop since the first night they met, she doesn’t fully feel a part of the group yet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There are far too many of them, for one thing—Annabeth has no idea how it is any of them can maintain so many relationships at once. Even Piper used to be a bit much for her at times, but she always understood, and she never faulted Annabeth for it. That’s probably the only reason their friendship made it through the test of Annabeth’s inability to truly open up—Piper’s persistence paired with her insane ability to empathize with and understand others. Annabeth has no idea how she does it; she feels blind when it comes to her <em>own</em> emotions, much less anyone else’s. The only person she truly understands is Piper, and that’s only because they’ve been friends for so long. Everyone else is a mystery to her—she can read their motivations, can anticipate what they might do, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to tap into how they <em>feel</em>, what they want or need from her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She has a lifetime of thinking in terms of competition and strategy instead of genuine human connection to thank for that, she supposes. She wonders why it is that she never learned how to stop. She thinks maybe it’s too late to turn it off, now. Maybe it’s too late for her, period.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before she can spiral any further she is brought back to attention by the feeling of two warm palms on her shoulders, and she pushes up her sunglasses to look up at Percy, who is grinning like a madman. She smiles widely, pushes his glasses up, too—she hates that she couldn’t see his eyes. Even if he always does look at her like he’s trying to peer into her soul, she much prefers the bright sea green before her than the reflection of herself in his black lenses. He’s clean-shaven today, looks like the young kid she watched in all those videos, bright-eyed and ready for whatever might come his way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You came,” he says happily, smiling so widely that she thinks his cheeks must be aching from the effort.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course I did,” she says. “Wouldn’t miss it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His grin grows, somehow, and he wraps his arms around her in a hug, which she returns immediately. It’s only then that she notices the state of his shirtless-ness, once her bare arms are pressed against his bare shoulder blades, her cheek against his collarbone. His skin is warm all over, soft and smooth and dark brown, a color that reminds her of the dates she used to eat as a kid. <em>A treat</em>, her mother used to call them. Annabeth nestles her nose against his chest to hide her smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Definitely a treat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She forces herself to pull back, then, and he grins down at her once more, runs his finger along the side of her face down to her jaw. She feels her skin burning in his wake, and he seems to be trying to hold back a laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” she asks, and he bites his lip.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—” he coughs a bit, “—lines. On your face. Lines.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face drops and he laughs some more, so she rolls her eyes and shoves him away from her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I fell asleep in the car,” she mumbles, bringing her hand to her cheek to feel the deep indentations on the side of her face. “Stupid Piper and her stupid soothing voice.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As he laughs at her she huffs and pulls out her towel, shakes it out and lays it on the sand next to Piper. Everyone else but her is already set up, she notices. She wonders how fucking lost in her own thoughts she can manage to be before it ends up getting her killed one day. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pulls her dress up over her head and tosses it into her bag before turning back to Percy, who has quit laughing and has turned so red that she can actually make out a faint blush beneath his dark skin. He won’t look her in the eye.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the matter now?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips, and he clears his throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Legs,” he blurts out </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes widen in shock, like he can’t believe he said it out loud. He clears his throat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean—um—” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scrunches up his face as if he’s in pain and lets out a resigned sigh as he looks down at his feet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Legs. Good legs. Long.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gapes at him as he covers his eyes with his hands. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So sorry. I’m not—looking. Bye.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns and trudges away blindly, tripping over Hazel in the process and landing flat on his face. Annabeth laughs along with everyone else, shaking her head at his antics, and takes her place on her towel next to Piper.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I just broke Percy,” she tells her best friend, and Piper smiles evilly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Keep up the good work, Chase. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll be calling you Jackson.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before long Hazel is gathering everyone around in a large circle that ends up looking more like a deformed oval and passing out bagels. Annabeth sees two new faces across from her, has a feeling they are probably the friends Piper mentioned to her that she still hasn’t had the chance to meet. Thankfully, before things can get awkward, Piper gasps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I’m the worst. Annabeth, this is Nico and Will,” she says, gesturing at the pale boy with dark hair and the tan blonde. “Guys, this is Annabeth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles and waves and Will grins back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We have heard so much about you,” Will says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, Percy just does not shut up—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nico gets cut off when Percy shoves his bagel into his mouth. Nico grins around it evilly and takes a big bite out of it before handing it back to Percy, who is glaring at him. Annabeth laughs a bit and Percy lowers the baseball cap he’s put on over his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re drunk,” he tells her, looking down at his food, and she laughs again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah right, I fuckin’ wish,” Nico says, then turns to Annabeth. “Anyway, as I was saying, Percy speaks very highly of you. <em>Very</em> highly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Very, <em>very </em>highly,” Will adds, grinning like a fiend, and Piper winks at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth elbows her best friend.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ow, bitch!” Piper exclaims, then gets her back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re so rude, trying to embarrass your friend,” Annabeth says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not trying to <em>embarrass </em>him,” Piper defends.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s trying to set you up!” Hazel calls out from the far end of the circle, and everyone snickers as Percy sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He squints up at her apologetically and she grins and shakes her head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everyone—shut up,” Percy says. “It’s—it’s—uncomfy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth bites the inside of her cheek.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Archaic,” he says, then beams at Piper, who gives him two enthusiastic thumbs up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great use of the Word of the Day, Perce,” she praises, then frowns. “Although I’d prefer it if you didn’t call my match-making <em>archaic</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, it is,” Annabeth says. “Extremely.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, what do you know?” Piper grumbles, and Percy sticks his tongue out at her, wrinkling his nose. “Ungrateful, all of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we pick volleyball teams now or are we still making Percy and Annabeth—uncomfy?” Reyna asks from the other side of Piper. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I call Clarisse,” she says, and they all gasp.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who do you think you are?” Leo says from his spot off to Annabeth’s left. “You think you just get to <em>pick </em>Clarisse? Think again, princess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We were in the Olympics together. That has to mean <em>something</em>!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It means you’re a fuckin’ powerhouse and you guys will have an unfair advantage,” Piper says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No way. I get Clarisse,” Hazel says. “I’m too short for all of this, and you <em>know it</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everyone quiets, contemplative.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She has a point,” Nico mutters. “I’m short, too. I should get to be on your team.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re on <em>my </em>team,” Will says, pulling Nico into his side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, you can’t have Will <em>and </em>Clarisse,” Reyna cuts in. “That’s unfair. He played in college—he’s better than any of us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Should we be fighting over Will instead?” Leo asks, and they all turn on him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles brightly at them and chews his food.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d like to file a complaint about being bargained over like a piece of meat,” Clarisse says, but Reyna waves her off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Take it up with HR, we’re a little busy here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse recoils from her wife in offense and Percy speaks up in what Annabeth <em>thinks </em>is Arabic, but she can’t be sure. He is still speaking slowly, but what surprises her most is how easily the words come out, how smoothly he speaks them—she looks at Piper in confusion, and Piper holds up a hand as if to tell her to wait. Hazel says something back to him, perfectly fluent, and Annabeth feels like her head is spinning. What the fuck is going on here?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, hold, pause,” Annabeth says. “Hazel are you—do you speak Arabic?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have since I was three,” she informs her, and Annabeth gapes at her. “Percy and I shared a childhood home for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nico shifts at that, looking a bit uncomfortable, and Annabeth remembers that he is Hazel’s half-brother. She wonders what the fuck must have gone on to have Hazel and Percy raised in the same home but separate from Nico, her <em>actual </em>blood, but she knows it is none of her business, and she could never bring herself to ask. Will kisses the side of Nico’s head and rubs his thumb over the back of his hand soothingly, and Nico relaxes into his side. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy just—you—I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m, like, really confused?” Annabeth says, hating the feeling of not knowing absolutely everything, and Percy smiles at her sympathetically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My first language is Arabic,” he explains slowly. He gestures vaguely at the left side of his head. “It’s still—there. My problem is English.” He looks at Piper. "Pipes. Please."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows, totally lost, and looks to Piper, who nods patiently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, so it’s different for everyone, but bilingual people who have Broca’s Aphasia like Percy tend to keep their first language intact and only lose their second. Percy was born and raised with Arabic, and he didn’t really speak English until he started school. So when he had his accident, even though he’d been speaking English nearly his whole life, it kind of just—went away. He had to relearn it,” Piper explains, and Annabeth is no less confused now than she was before. “His Arabic was gone for a while, too, but it came back quicker and much more easily compared to his English. He still has some trouble with his pace, though.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So why not just speak Arabic all the time?” she asks him, and he grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stuck with Hazel,” he tells her, then shudders dramatically, and Hazel makes an indignant noise and throws her water bottle at him. “Abu Ibrahim,” he mutters somewhat sadly, looking down at his food. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He still wouldn’t really be able to communicate with many people here, so he can’t just forget about English,” Piper says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” she exhales, and Percy smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Imagine me,” he muses, and she crinkles her nose in sympathy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scrunches up his in return and she grins a bit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway, dibs on Will,” Leo says, and the argument around them continues on, but gets louder, angrier, until Annabeth is sure heads will roll.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy looks blissfully unaware of what’s happening, eating his bagel peacefully, his gaze on the water behind her, and she smiles a bit, takes in the sight of him. She notices a tattoo over his heart, something short, written in Arabic in black ink. She tilts her head, tries to imagine what it might say, what might mean so much to him that he would have it ingrained in his skin for the rest of his life. She doesn’t think she would ever be able to commit to something so fully, to be so totally invested that she could make a definitive decision to keep it with her forever.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He must notice her intrigued look because he leans down to catch her eye, grinning widely, and she rolls her eyes and straightens out. He gestures her over so she takes her seat beside him and they eat in silence as everyone’s shouting gets louder. She thinks it’s a good thing that hardly anyone else is on the beach or they might think there was a fucking riot happening. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s bare arm brushes against her shoulder, his thigh pressed against hers, and she tries to ignore the buzzing beneath her skin, tries to contain the warmth she feels starting to spread up her neck. He is incredibly difficult to be around normally, and now, beside her, wearing nothing but a fucking baseball cap and his swim trunks, it feels nearly impossible. She takes a deep breath and he pokes her eyebrow, so she turns to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Angry?” he asks, and she realizes she is scowling down at her bagel. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tries to relax her face but when she meets his eyes, his stupidly gorgeous and soulful eyes, her eyebrows only furrow further.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I’m just—” She huffs out a breath. “Would you stop looking at me, please? Could you do that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tilts his head in confusion and she realizes he must have trouble understanding her over all the noise, so she groans and shoves his hat over his eyes, then pushes him down into the sand. She takes a few moments to collect herself as he laughs heartily and sits back up, scoots further away from her. She tries to push down the wave of disappointment she feels at the distance he’s put between them in favor of gratitude—she simply cannot be trusted to think straight when he’s in such close proximity. It’s too dangerous. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes off his cap and puts it on her instead, and she grins as she looks up at him and he pulls it down over her eyes, too. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So maybe they have the same issue with each other. Maybe they are both to blame, burning stares and warm skin and limbs too long to contain. If he pulls her back down into the sand with him, their hands and knees bumping together as they soak in the early morning sun, she doesn’t complain one bit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a good day, after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is truly having one of the best Good Days of his entire life. It started when he woke up that morning, immediately stretched both of his arms over his head, extended his fingers, and clenched his fist. Nothing hurt, everything was stronger than it had been in a while, and when he curled up his toes and rolled out his ankle, he was positive: it was going to be a Good Day. He’d sent out the alert immediately, despite the fact that it was only 5 a.m. When nobody responded in the two minutes it took him to become impatient, he’d settled for calling all his friends in turn. Hazel had groaned into the phone, Nico threatened his life, Clarisse called him a <em>fucking disgrace</em> and Piper started shouting GOOD DAY back to him over and over again, until they both realized it was about time to get up and ready for the day. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he’d asked her to call Annabeth and let her know what was happening she only became even more energetic, and he groaned when she starting cooing about him being in love.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, as he lies in the sand beside Annabeth, waiting for the day to get hotter so he can finally swim, he thinks that all of Piper’s antics were very worthwhile. He throws his arm over his eyes to stop himself from just fucking staring at Annabeth's tanned legs and takes a deep breath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You still like swimming?” she mutters beside him, and he turns his head to look at her. “Even after everything?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles softly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Only the ocean,” he tells her. “Not—other places.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pools, you mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and nods, turns his face back to the sky. This is not a conversation to be had on such a gorgeous day.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s swim,” he says, sitting up abruptly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks down at her, her eyes shut, lets his eyes trace the curve of her eyebrow over the softness of her cheek, the sharpness of her nose, and he feels his chest constricting with the lack of her. She opens her eyes and looks up at him and he cannot help the idiotic smile he feels starting to split his cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know how?” he asks, and she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods his head towards the water and helps her to her feet, feels the need to look away from her now that her hands are in his. God, he needs to get a <em>grip</em>. He releases one of her hands but holds onto the other, ignores the heat he feels spreading in his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who wants to swim?” he says to the general group, and everyone gets up except Nico and Will. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s thumb brushes against his wrist and he feels a jolt like electricity go through him, cannot bear it any longer, especially not when he sees Clarisse raising her eyebrows at him. He releases Annabeth’s hand gently, tries to ignore the way he already wants to grab it back, and frowns as he looks down at Nico, who is busy napping on Will’s chest. Percy kicks him in the ass.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Swim,” Percy says, and Nico makes a sound reminiscent of a growl.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” he says through his grit teeth, so Percy leans down and plucks him off his boyfriend’s chest. “Do not <em>manhandle </em>me!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, that’s my job,” Will muses, smiling widely as Nico struggles against Percy’s grasp.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna snickers and Percy laughs wildly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know what, fuck you and your dumb stupid muscles that you shouldn’t even have,” Nico says to Percy over his shoulder. “Who even let you exercise while <em>paralyzed</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Finally someone says it,” Percy hears Annabeth mutter beside him, and he beams at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She frowns at him again and he sends her a wink before finally releasing Nico.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That is also my job,” Will calls out, and Nico glares at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will just smiles with his eyes shut and Nico purses his lips and turns to Percy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna fucking drown you, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Promise?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s easy to get Nico into the water after that, because he chases Percy all the way into the surf. He ignores Hazel calling out to him, telling him not to swim out too far, and does exactly that—he dives headfirst into an oncoming wave, swims beneath it for as long as he can until his lungs can’t take it anymore, and surfaces much farther out than any of his friends. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hasn’t told anyone, but he’s been practicing holding his breath since he first got out of the hospital. No part of him ever believed he might step foot near a pool again, much less swim in one, but after all that happened he couldn’t lose <em>everything </em>he’d worked so hard for. He had to keep one thing, no matter how small, no matter how precarious his relationship with the sport had been.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel starts yelling at him from where she is swimming with the rest of his friends, but he's too far away to hear exactly what's she's saying. Knowing her, she's probably busy cursing him out for worrying her. He feels a bit guilty for it, but it's so rare that he gets to enjoy himself like this that he can't bring himself to swim back just yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sees an oncoming wave that looks about ready to crash directly on top of him and dives beneath the surface just before it hits. He loves the feeling of his body cutting through the water, pushing against the motion of the tide. Even before his accident, he always preferred swimming in the ocean to the pool—there is something so freeing about being in open waters, so familiar, welcoming. Like coming home. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His limbs always feel lighter, here, like less of a burden. Here he moves more swiftly, more naturally. Here, he can push himself to his absolute limits or he can float easily, lie back and rest his eyes and feel the load of his stubborn right side lighten, his problems forgotten if only for a moment. He does just that—floats way out where the waves start off small, rock around his body, push and pull him around gently, forgiving. He shuts his eyes and feels the cool caress of the water on his skin, takes in the sounds of the sea surrounding him, forgets for a moment that he has a body at all. Absolute bliss, for the first time in far too long.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Percy's not quite sure how long he stays there, but when he picks up his head to look around for his friends he realizes that he's gone</span> <span class="s1"> out way too far for his own good. He swims back inland towards shallower waters and once he gets back to where his friends are standing in the surf, the water barely up to their waists, he finds them deadlocked in a game of chicken—Reyna on Clarisse’s shoulders, Piper on Annabeth’s. Hazel and Leo are busy yelling distractions at Reyna and Piper to throw them off while Will piggybacks Nico through the water, wading in peaceful circles around the chicken fight. Percy grins at the scene before him, takes in the sight of his favorite idiots in all their chaotic glory.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna race?” he calls, and Piper snorts and glances at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a world record holder. You think any of us are dumb enough—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna knocks Piper off of Annabeth’s shoulders the second her focus falters and throws her arms in the air triumphantly. She grabs Clarisse's face and smacks a kiss onto her nose, then points at Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eat it, Chase!” Reyna shouts, and Annabeth smacks the water, then shoves Piper back under the waves immediately after she comes up from her fall.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll race you,” Leo says, and Percy grins like a fiend. “If I win you have to let me pet the sharks, though.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tragically, Leo will not be irritating the injured sharks any time soon. Percy thinks it's probably for the best.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Later, once everyone has swum and played volleyball to their hearts’ content and the sun begins to set, Percy rests with his head on Piper’s stomach as she runs her fingers through his hair soothingly. He can hear Annabeth and Hazel talking somewhere behind him, and he smiles widely as his best friend’s bell-like laugh rings through the air. She’s been especially stressed because of vet school lately, and he wishes he could do something, anything to help her out. But other than offering her the contents of his freezer and mindless distractions, he’s of no use. Hopefully this day off will do her some good—she deserves some rest. She laughs again and Annabeth snorts and he smiles widely, doing his best not to laugh at the sound himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He runs his hand through the sand beside him as Piper tugs on his curls.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you thinking about?” she mutters, and he smiles a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno,” he says. “’M just happy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tilts his head back to look at Piper to see her smiling widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. You deserve to be,” she tells him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So do you,” he says, and she sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m happy. Mostly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s not mostly?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know. I guess…I feel kind of stuck. Like I’ve been doing the same job since I graduated and I want…more, I guess. I want to do something more with my life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He moves so that he is lying down beside her and he rests on his elbow once they’re at eye-level.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like what?” he asks her, and she sighs through her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her head back and forth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like, maybe I want to do research or something. Go back to school. Get my PhD.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyebrows shoot up to his forehead and she knits her eyebrows, playing with her hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s stupid,” she mutters. “I’m not smart enough for it, anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gapes at her, cannot believe what he’s hearing. Piper McLean, the woman who busted her ass to open her own free speech therapy clinic, who literally saved his damn life, thinks that she is not smart enough to get her PhD? He is beside himself, cannot find the proper words to say, so he whacks her in the forehead, and she glares at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, asshole, what the fuck?” she demands, rubbing the spot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You <em>are </em>smart enough,” he tells her, his voice firm. “You’re—you—I’m too mad.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper—you’re, like. You just—you—you—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, it’s fine—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me!” he yells, and she stares at him, her eyes wide. “You saved me. I—I couldn’t say <em>anything</em>. Except one word. And now I’m here. Because of <em>you</em>. If anyone—you can do it. You can. You’re only stupid if—if you don’t try. Fuckin’ dummy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper looks at him, a small smile playing on her lips, and he scowls at her. She grins widely and hugs him tightly, throwing her arms around his neck. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, Perce,” she mutters, and he wraps his arms around her. “It’s just scary, I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. But you can do it. I know you can.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re Piper. You’re a bad bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs hard as she pulls away from the hug and shoves him into the sand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” she laughs, then purses her lips in thought. “I am, though, aren’t I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods vigorously and she grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then you’ll forgive me for what I’m about to say?” He knits his eyebrows. “Remember your goldfish—Goldie Prawn, from freshman year?” He nods. “I killed her when you were swimming at Nationals. And I replaced her. And then I killed the replacement, so I had to replace <em>that </em>one.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gapes at her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—<em>two</em>? How did you kill two?” he says in shock, and she scrunches up her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, the first time I overfed her,” she begins. “The second time I was cleaning the tank like you told me and scooped her out without even noticing she was in there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks at her, horrified, and she winces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Monster. You’re—a monster.” He whips around to face Reyna. “You knew? Goldie Prawn?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse snorts and Reyna’s eyes widen a fraction as she shakes her head at Piper nearly imperceptibly. Percy yells in outrage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was eight years ago; it’s time to move on,” Reyna tells him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Never,” he says dramatically. “I will never move on.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You couldn’t even tell the difference between them all!” Piper exclaims. “Self-righteous bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why’d you tell him?” Leo asks. “You knew it’d only upset him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s jaw drops.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You all—knew?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They all nod, including Clarisse, Hazel, and Annabeth. <em>Annabeth.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel so—so—so—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Melodramatic?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pathetic?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dense?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Betrayed,” Annabeth finishes for him, and he points at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“B-betrayed,” he says. “Betrayed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, no, you told him about Goldie Prawn?” Nico mumbles, sitting up with Will and rubbing his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing is sacred,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Word number two, nice, Perce!” Piper says, and he waves her off as he stands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You,” he says, pointing at Annabeth. “You owed me nothing. Come.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows in confusion and he nods his head away from the group, so she excuses herself from her conversation with Hazel and follows him along. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where are we going?” she asks as he leads her along the shoreline.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is your leg okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods and he offers her his arm. She smiles a bit and takes it and they walk in silence for a few beats.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t care—Goldie Prawn,” he says. “I knew.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gapes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” she says, half-laughing, and he smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I knew,” he tells her. “I just—sunset. Sunrise is to share. Sunset’s to think.” He pauses. “I like annoying them, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs, then, and he grins widely, glances at her. Her blonde hair is tinted orange in the dying light, a golden glow surrounding her. She looks otherworldly in the haze of sunset, like a goddess, and he just cannot stop staring.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aren’t you technically sharing the sunset with me?” she asks him, and he blinks once.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re easy,” he says, and she tilts her head, knitting her eyebrows, and he feels his eyes widen. “No! Not—no.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles widely, then, covers her mouth as she giggles, and he shakes his head, letting out a breathless laugh. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What did I tell you about apologizing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not to,” he mutters. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, enough!” she laughs. “You were saying I’m easy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely and she mirrors his expression, nudges him as he stops her. They take their seats facing the water, and he picks up a rogue seashell, starts digging in the sand with it. He takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s easy,” he says. “You. Talking. When I’m not—being dumb.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs a bit and he crinkles his nose as he looks at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t usually—talk to new people,” he mutters and looks back down at the seashell in his hand. “I get nervous.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s to be nervous about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gives her a look like, <em>come on, man</em>, and she purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, fine, you have a little trouble, but who the fuck cares what they think? What are they gonna do, hit you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nearly chokes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” he laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m saying what’s the worst that could possibly happen? Is someone gonna sucker-punch you for talking slow?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His smile fades a bit as he looks down at his left hand, at the massive scar that takes up the majority of his palm and its continuation through the back of it. He flexes it on instinct and shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just—don’t like it. People get scared when—they can’t understand,” he says quietly, and she leans into his side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’m certainly glad you decided to talk to me,” she tells him, and he looks at her, smiling a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grins and nods once, and he knows for a fact he looks like an absolute lovesick fool, but he can’t bring himself to care.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you miss it?” he asks her. “Running?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily, looking out to the water.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I miss running for fun,” she says. “To relieve my stress, to clear my head. I do not miss competing. At all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises one eyebrow skeptically, and she looks at him, then rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, I miss it a little,” she admits, turning back to the water. He smiles a bit. “Not the training or—anything else. I just miss the feeling of pushing so hard, for those bursts, just—just giving it everything I had and coming out on top.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Winning.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She exhales a breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, I miss winning,” she says, and he smiles widely and nudges her with his shoulder. “There is nothing like standing on that damn pedestal with the gold while those two other losers are literally physically beneath you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs hard at that and she does as well, so he shoves her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re terrible,” he tells her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s the truth,” she laughs. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel like a fucking legend. You did. We all did. That’s why we tortured ourselves for years. To catch that feeling.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t,” he tells her. “I never cared. I just wanted to help.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who could you possibly help by winning a gold medal except yourself?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My mom.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows, and he moves his thumb against the pads of his fingers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Money.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah,” she says. “The endorsements.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So many. I did—cereal. Shampoo. Condoms.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She chokes out a laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Condoms</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs a bit, nodding.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Protect your swimmers,’” he recites, remembering his line, and she cackles wildly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please—please tell me you’re kidding,” she laughs, and he shakes his head, chuckling a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was fish. Flopping around.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doubles over, holding onto her stomach, and he finally breaks and laughs along with her. He’s never seen her like this, so open, so unrestricted in her joy. And the fact that he was the cause—it warms him down to the pit of his stomach, makes his veins hum with satisfaction. He wants to make her laugh like this every day for the rest of his sorry life. It’s killing him, a little bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s fucking incredible,” she sighs, wiping at her eyes. “Oh my god. I just did, like, the normal stuff. Wheaties, those milk ads, running shoes, sporting goods chains—ooh, I did a couple of commercials for Audi. That was fun.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They sent you one?” She nods, and he pouts. “I got—lifetime supply of condoms.” He frowns. "They're all expired."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She starts laughing again and shoves him over, and he grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why running?” he asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why swimming?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I asked first.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, I don’t know if you know my mom. She’s kind of—everywhere. Athena Gold. Five-time Olympic competitor.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Five times</em>?” he exclaims. “Is she—a robot? Immortal?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s a fucking nightmare is what she is,” Annabeth grumbles. “And her real name is Abigail Silvers, but that’s not the name of a champion.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels his mouth trembling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Silvers?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grins widely, but it disappears quickly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Born in second place. Spent the rest of her life trying to prove herself worthy of first. On her own while she could, and then through me once she couldn’t.” She sighs heavily and shakes her head. “She was a sprinter, so she turned me into a sprinter. That’s why running—it was never my choice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows and frowns as she scowls down at her knees.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry. Sucks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shrugs half-heartedly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Could’ve been worse. I liked it, in the beginning at least. It was after I stopped liking it that it got—bad.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips and he can feel the shift in the air, feel how tense she becomes. Obviously, this is not a Good Day discussion. He can respect that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’s Nawra?” he asks her just to change the subject, and she grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, God. She sent me her project plan.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is absolutely perfect. Color-coded notes, detailed outlines, <em>three </em>backup plans.” She shakes her head. “She’s like a mini-me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles widely, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re gonna do it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I think I am,” she says, scrunching up her nose and tilting her head. “Are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He purses his lips and turns the seashell over in his hand, brushes the sand out of it. Its smooth interior is light pink and flecked with browns and greens, and it glints silver in the light.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Silver,” he says instead of answering, offering it to her. “Like your eyes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes the seashell, her face softening, and he leans back on his hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, I always preferred sprints to long races,” she says, looking down at the shell. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tilts his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods, leans back beside him, and he can feel her pinky brush against his as she does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not very good at pacing myself,” she tells him. “I just think if you’re gonna do something, you should give it your 100% or not give anything all, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But—you do give your all. When it’s long. It’s just—slower. Spaced out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s just not for me,” she says. “I don’t have the patience.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns to him then, and her nose seems much closer to his than it was before. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s dangerous, for me. I have to hold myself back from the things I really want, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From this close up, all he can do is stare at her lips, her perfect lips that form perfect words that are perfectly perfect. Full and pink and parted just so, and Percy—Percy has never wanted to kiss anyone so terribly in his entire life. Everything in him aches for her, to lean forward, to press his lips against hers, to taste her words as she speaks them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But something is off, here. Something is out of place, ambiguous and looming. He knows that she is not in any place to kiss him—he can see it in the tension that still rests in her shoulders from earlier, in the way her eyes have clouded over. He knows that if he is going to kiss her, it will not happen like this, when she is vulnerable and closing part of herself off from him. He wants a kiss that is genuine and true, a kiss that happens because she really does want it, because she wants <em>him</em>, and not just a distraction from whatever bad memories have resurfaced in the wake of their conversation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he clears his throat and turns his head towards the view before them, leaning forward and taking his hands with him. He can’t be trusted to touch her right now. He needs to put space between them before he does something they might both regret.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cold turkey,” he says, and she sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kind of. Not quite. More like…delayed gratification.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bites down on the side of his tongue as he looks back at her over his shoulder, and she looks so beautiful with her hair tumbling around her shoulders and her skin glowing in the light of golden hour and her eyes focused on him. Just him. He momentarily reconsiders his decision not to kiss her from earlier because—fuck it, she’s <em>breathtaking</em>. But then he hears Clarisse calling out for them from down the beach to come enjoy the fire they’ve gotten started, and her eyes dart away from his. He knows then that he would never forgive himself if he ever made such a thoughtless mistake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuckin’ moral compass. It ruins all his fun.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stands and offers her his hands, so she takes them, pulling herself up. She taps the seashell twice, then taps his nose the same way, and he grins, wrinkling it. He taps hers back and she smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on. We have to go show our friends my new seashell—Goldie Prawn IV,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it is that exact moment that he feels his heart shatter inside his chest, and he is completely, utterly, irreparably crushed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">When she bumps his shoulder with hers and grins up at him, brighter than the setting sun, he decides that it is totally fuckin' worth it.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re, like, really staring at me,” Annabeth tells the girl sitting across from her in the coffee shop. “You haven’t blinked in a very long time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra shakes her head as if dispelling her thoughts, and her cheeks darken.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” she says. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You said that. Ten minutes ago. And ten minutes before that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She buries her face in her hands and Annabeth smiles amusedly, takes a sip of her coffee. She was pleasantly surprised by how meticulous Nawra’s project plan had been. When she received the email she was expecting a vague outline, <em>maybe </em>an abstract, but included were: the full annotated bibliography she asked for, a comprehensive list of the questions that would be asked, and far too many diagrams to keep track of. Except she could keep track of them, because they had both an alphanumerical <em>and </em>color code.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was spec-fucking-tacular.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth couldn’t believe the girl who became incoherent any time she so much as looked at her could manage to pull off something so well-thought-out. When she’d brought it up to Piper, her best friend had snorted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, duh,” Piper told her. “You’re like her hero. Plus, she’s, what? 15?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh God, she’s 15,” Annabeth had groaned into the phone. “Wow, am I a stone-cold bitch?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And so now, as Nawra attempts to hide herself away in her hands, a wave of sympathy overcomes Annabeth as she reminds herself that the poor kid in front of her is exactly that—a kid.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” Annabeth tells her. “Forget it. Let’s continue.” Nawra drops her hands down. “You were asking about my first Olympics.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. Right. Okay.” Nawra takes a deep breath. “You were 18, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What was that like? Making it to the international stage? I mean—fucking unreal, no?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was. I never thought—it’s not that I thought I wouldn’t make it. It was just such a faraway goal, one of those things you work towards for your entire life and you hope and you train and you do everything you can to make it a reality and then—it happens. It’s surreal, it’s a feeling like nothing else in the world. It’s the culmination of everything—<em>everything</em>—you have ever worked for coming to fruition. It feels more like a dream than real life, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra shakes her head, her eyes wide behind her wire-framed glasses.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuckin’ nuts,” she summarizes, and Annabeth grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuckin’ nuts,” she agrees.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, but like, off the record, how fuckin’ lit did you guys get behind the scenes? I’ve heard some crazy shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s eyes bulge out as she chokes on her coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excuse me?” she coughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, sorry, is it still a thing you have to deny? Like lifetime secrets or whatever?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t—” Annabeth shakes her head. “I did not <em>get lit</em>. Do people still say that?” Nawra shrugs. “Either way, I didn’t. I was way too focused for any of that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But people <em>did</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth sends her an exasperated look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we please focus on the important stuff? Page 7 section A, code 0712 for—oh God, that's my birthday. That is my date of birth. You scare the absolute shit out of me, do you know that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra pushes her glasses up her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I may be known for my…intensity,” she admits, and Annabeth takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, I really can’t unpack all that right now," Annabeth mutters. "Should we get back to it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Actually I have to go. My mom needs someone to help her chop up a couple of lambs and I’m the youngest, so…I have to clean up after.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth feels her eyes nearly bulge out of her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you—they’re not <em>alive</em>?” Annabeth asks, and Nawra looks at her in offense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? No, of course not.” She pauses. “Well, I guess it was alive, until my dad, you know.” She moves her finger across her neck and flails out her tongue. “We’re butchers. We have a halal shop up on 127th. Fresh every day.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth stares at her, at a total loss for words. She has a habit of dropping incredibly random and outrageous facts in the middle of conversations casually, as if it’s totally normal. Although for her, Annabeth supposes, it <em>is</em> normal.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s—cool,” Annabeth says. “I’m more of, um…a chicken girl myself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, we have chicken too! And turkey. And beef. Everything except pork, obviously.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you’re Muslim?” Annabeth asks, and Nawra smiles and nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yup. And—oh, please, I’m gonna stop you so that you don’t break my heart, okay—do not ask me about my uncovered hair. Okay? Don’t do that.” Annabeth tries to speak up to tell her that she would never, but she holds up her hand. “Sh, don’t. I love you too much to let you make a fool of yourself that way.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth flattens her lips together and nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She begins packing up, collecting her binders and her list of questions. She stops her phone recording and tucks it into her jacket pocket, and Annabeth helps her gather all her papers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know I was actually really impressed by what you sent me,” Annabeth tells her, and she freezes, staring at Annabeth with wide eyes. “You really put in the work. You did great.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She blinks once, continues staring.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, for real?” she whispers, and Annabeth nods. “You’re not just saying that because you feel bad for me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? No, of course not. I wouldn’t have agreed to do it if I didn’t think the work was high-quality,” Annabeth tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, wow.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stands up straight and sniffles a bit, and Annabeth’s eyes widen as she realizes that Nawra is tearing up a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That just—it means a lot,” she says, her voice cracking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh no. Oh no, don’t—please don’t cry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not crying,” she squeaks, rubbing at her eyes furiously, nearly knocking her glasses off her face. “I’m allergic to kindness.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth covers her mouth with her hand, doing her best not to laugh, and Nawra stares at her in horror.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you laughing at me? I’m fuckin’ <em>crying</em>, that’s so mean,” she sobs, and Annabeth breaks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not laughing!” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is laughing. She is laughing so hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please—I’m sorry. Sorry. You’re just—you’re so…you’re <em>me</em>,” Annabeth says, and Nawra sniffles and looks at her in confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You remind me so much of me. I mean, the color-coded tabs, the painstaking research, the crying when people are nice to you. Those are all things that remind me of me and it’s honestly terrifying because we are either the same person or you’re a stalker who is mirroring my personality to lure me in.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sniffles again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not a stalker. If I was you wouldn’t know it, though.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, that’s incredibly reassuring and not at all horrifying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra nods and wipes at her eye.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry I got emotional,” she apologizes. “I just—I really meant what I said when I saw you that day. I’ve always looked up to you. I think you fuckin’ rock, dude. I was like seven when you were at your first Olympics and I don’t remember much, but—I remember wanting to be like you. So—it means a lot. What you said.” She pauses and frowns. “Unless this is another one of those vivid dreams I’ve been having lately and it’s all made up, then that would fuckin’ suck, I don’t think I’d be able to handle the disappointment.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, God, that’s what this is, it’s the only explanation—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re awake,” Annabeth cuts in before she can lose her shit. “Breathe.” She inhales heavily, nodding her head, and Annabeth eyes her cautiously. “Okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, for sure, totally, absolutely, mmhmm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Another ten breaths.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She does as she’s told, and Annabeth sips her coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Better?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Nawra exhales. “Thanks. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth waves her hand dismissively.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine. Happens to the best of us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please don’t be nice to me anymore,” Nawra whispers, pausing as she places her books into her bag.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. Go away, now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her lower lip trembles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well don’t be <em>mean, </em>either.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God, I am leaving. Thanks for the interview, glad you got your stuff, see you next week.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, that reminds me!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth stops where she is, freezing in place as her jacket falls onto her shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did Percy say anything…about…interviews?” Nawra asks shyly, and Annabeth purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, he said he’d think about it,” she says, and Nawra nods, dejected. “Sorry. I just don’t think he’s comfortable with it right now, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, yeah, totally. Of course. I mean, I’d probably be hesitant to do it, too, you know?” She pauses, then. “Wait, you said right now? As in, he might be comfortable with it later?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know what, don’t answer that, I will respectfully hope against hope and will not harass him the way I did with you,” she says, and Annabeth frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why didn’t I get that curtesy?” she asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You totally did. I waited three whole days to message you. That’s forever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That is the exact opposite of forever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Isn’t the opposite of forever never?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Never is the opposite of always.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So what’s the opposite of forever?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy <em>shit</em>—wait, no. Stop derailing the conversation. Why is every interaction with you like falling down the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Magical and enchanting?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Chaotic and migraine-inducing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m very distractible,” she admits quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth exhales heavily through her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, me, too,” she mutters. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra beams at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Another thing we have in common,” she sings, and Annabeth suppresses the urge to groan.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I gotta get the fuck outta here,” she mutters to herself as Nawra starts unraveling her headphones. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra looks up at her and smiles, her glasses falling down her nose, and Annabeth offers her a small one back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s been having difficulty throughout this whole process, trying to figure out who the person Nawra idolizes might be in relation to who she is now. She doesn’t want to tell her that her first Olympics was the precursor to one of the lowest points of her life, a time when she was so spent, so emotionally exhausted that she did everything she could to quit. She’d given her all to make it to the games, she’d won her gold medals, and it still wasn’t enough for her mother. She wanted to go to school full-time, she wanted to make a life for herself outside of the sport, but her mother forbade her from it, and training became even more intense, more demanding, more suffocating.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How does she tell the girl before her that she spent her whole life looking up to someone who hated what she did with a passion, someone who was manipulated and pushed into it against her will? How does she explain that she is so much fucking better now that she is free of it all? How can she put into words the fact that she <em>knows</em> she is better now, that there has absolutely never been a time when she has been safer or happier, but that some small part of her still craves that feeling? Being the best of the best. Being a champion—a title that was utterly indisputable with four gold medals hanging around her neck. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s what it all comes down to, it seems. Physical proof. Evidence of the fact that she <em>was </em>victorious, that she <em>could</em> lay claim to every win she ever earned. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s harder, now, blurrier. Time and distance and the consuming hatred a very large part of her still feels towards it all have clouded her memory. She knows what she has done, she has every medal she has ever earned, but she can’t believe that <em>she</em> was the one to receive them. She can’t believe that just being called a champion automatically makes her the person the entire world wanted her to be—infallible, unwavering, devoted. Whole. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If she thinks about it, she doesn’t know that there’s ever been a time in her life when she was any of those things. She doesn’t think she is any of them now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s not quite sure she’s very worthy of that title, anymore. After all, she’s not a champion any longer. She was never one to begin with. She was just a kid trying to make her mother proud, a teenager working out of resentment, an adult drained of any fight. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is not a hero. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Nawra tugs on her arm, smiling wildly and bouncing on her heels, thanking her for walking all the way to the subway station with her, and there is no way she could ever speak those words out loud, could ever break this poor girl’s heart. She may not be a hero, but she’s no villain either—so she smiles, reminds Nawra that she needs to give herself more credit for the incredible work she has done, and waits until she is out of sight to take out her phone and call her old mentor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The only person in the world she could ever call her hero. Maybe he will have the answers she needs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The phone rings once, twice, and the moment she hears his voice in her ear she knows she is doing the right thing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mr. Brunner has never let her down, after all. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so because of how long each chapter is (4 sections each, anywhere from 2k-4.5k words per section) this story is definitely not going to span a crazy amount of chapters. I'm not sure how many it'll exactly take to get to the end but because of the sheer amount of content in each one, it'll probably take a while to pump them all out. I will (tentatively) say that I'll probably be updating every 2ish weeks.<br/>Once again, thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Few things to note:<br/>-Chapter deals with chronic pain and discussions of ableism (especially in the work environment)<br/>-Brief mentions of emotional manipulation (it's never said outright but it's implied)<br/>Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoy :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To say Annabeth is killing it at work would be an understatement. Crushing it, demolishing it, fucking Hulk-smashing it to absolute bits—she is doing all that and more. She’s just finished her first major task of convincing a massive tech company (she will not be naming names—it rhymes with frugal) to allow her team to be in charge of designing their new headquarters in SoHo. There is limited space, a whole host of zoning laws and regulations to navigate, and a rather tight budget to work with, and Annabeth has never been more excited. She loves a good challenge, after all; this will be her biggest yet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s celebrating her week’s successes with Reyna, Clarisse, and Piper at the formers’ apartment, laughing and drinking and eating to her heart’s content. Clarisse, who is an incredibly talented cook, has just finished serving the first two courses and is helping Reyna bring out the third to the dining table. Annabeth feels warm all over, absolutely giddy from her win this week, and over the fact that she actually has people to celebrate it with. Maybe it’s the wine, but she feels her eyes get a bit misty as sentimentality crashes over her in a sudden wave.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, are you okay?” Piper asks her from across the table, reaching out and squeezing her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, yeah, I’m fine—I’m just…” She takes a deep breath. “I’m so happy. I have so many friends. And you’re all so good to me. And I love you all—so much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She dabs at her cheeks and Piper smiles widely, kisses her best friend’s knuckles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, God, you’ve gone soft,” Piper tells her, laughing a bit, and Annabeth pouts and takes her hand back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have not gone <em>soft</em>,” she objects.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have. You love us so much that you’re <em>crying</em>—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off, I’m <em>sensitive </em>right now—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“—and you have never been so soft in your life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth pouts once more and sips her wine and Piper smiles, triumphant.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarisse, kick Piper out of your home, please,” Annabeth calls over her shoulder, cradling her glass against her chest like a baby.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I would love to,” Clarisse begins, finally returning with a massive pan of roast that smells absolutely delectable. “But I am curious as to why.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s being smug.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Enough reason for me. Fuck out of here, you lousy vegetarian.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know you made me something fucking phenomenal and I will not leave until I am fed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse’s eyes light up a bit and Annabeth frowns as Piper beams, knowing she has won.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck you, McLean,” Annabeth grumbles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wouldn’t you just love to?” Piper shoots back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, here it is,” Reyna announces, returned from the kitchen that’s not ten feet behind them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She places a plate down in front of Piper and Piper gasps, covering her mouth as she looks at Clarisse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t,” she says, and Annabeth’s jaw is on the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did,” Clarisse tells her. “And it took me fucking forever, so you better—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse is cut off when Piper jumps out of her seat and flings herself into the taller woman’s arms, hugging her closely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You made me ratatouille. Fucking ratatouille! I am so in love with you I could <em>cry</em>!” Piper exclaims, then pulls back to look at Reyna. “I am home-wrecking, I'm so sorry to tell you, but it’s time for you to pack your bags and go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna just grins and leans against Annabeth’s chair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We can do a swap. I’ll take your wife, you take mine,” Reyna says, and Annabeth raises her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am very okay with this arrangement,” she says, and Reyna winks at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She feels her cheeks flush and pats at them—it’s time to cut herself off. She takes one last sip of her wine and places her glass on the table, as far away from her as possible. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth has a type for sure,” Piper says, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Tall, dark, and sexy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please fuck off—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How is our good friend who has forgotten us so he can spend all his time talking to you, anyway?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth groans and buries her face on the table as her friends laugh at her and everyone takes their seats.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The roast smells delicious,” she tells Clarisse, still face-down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It might smell better if you picked up your head and stopped smudging the wood,” Clarisse says, and Annabeth raises her head slowly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m slightly tipsy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, darling, we know,” Piper tells her, and Annabeth sticks her tongue out at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am so fucking excited right now,” Reyna says. “Clarisse hasn’t made this in <em>so long</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because it takes fucking forever,” Clarisse informs her as she serves Annabeth her portion. “It’s been marinating for 36 hours and roasting for 12. It’s a very long process.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A very long process that’s worth it for the woman you love.” Reyna pauses. “And who you vowed to cook for through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, 'til death—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do us part, yes, I was there, my love.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna grins as Clarisse reaches out for her plate and she places it in her wife’s waiting hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You only call me ‘my love’ when I’ve annoyed you,” Reyna observes, resting her chin on her interlocked hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You only annoy me when I cook roasts.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They grin widely, looking at each other so fondly that it makes Annabeth’s chest ache. It’s been obvious throughout the night just how much love exists between them, in the home they’ve built together, and the thought of it warms Annabeth’s cold, dead heart. God, she needs to stop being such a fucking wimp.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you crying <em>again</em>?” Piper says, gaping at her best friend, and Annabeth wipes at her eyes furiously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. Leave me alone. Fuck you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God, you’re worse than tipsy. You’re drunk.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not drunk, I’m just feeling a lot right now, okay?” Annabeth exclaims. She gestures between Reyna and Clarisse. “Look at them! They’re so fucking <em>cute</em>! Who wouldn’t cry at the sight of them? You’re just a heartless monster.” She shakes her head and sniffles, more tears falling down her cheeks. “God, I love it here. I can’t wait to eat this roast.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper covers her mouth, trying and failing to stifle her laughter, and Clarisse laughs wildly, nearly impaling herself on her carving knife. Reyna just shakes her head, sending Annabeth an understanding smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I get it,” she tells Annabeth. “This dish is worth crying over.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods along with her and Clarisse wipes at her eyes, still laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How exactly did you two meet?” Annabeth asks. “I need to hear the story. I want you to really tell it, too, okay, don’t be afraid to use imagery.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna grins widely and Clarisse rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’d been Piper and Percy’s RA in college,” Reyna begins. “I was a senior when they were freshman, and I was on the woman’s swim team—Percy was on the men’s. We always ended up running into each other at meets and I wasn’t supposed to have favorites, but he and Piper were my favorites.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins widely and Piper smiles as if it was her life’s greatest accomplishment. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“After I graduated we kept in touch some, I followed along with the Olympics, all of that, but we weren’t necessarily friends. It wasn’t until after his accident that I reconnected with both him and Piper.” She frowns sadly, knitting her eyebrows. “I didn’t—this is awful. I just didn’t know. I hadn’t heard about what happened; he had his accident at some small event, and it wasn’t anything major, not even the qualifiers. But I was at a coffee shop in Midtown and he happened to be there and every time I tried to speak to him he just gave me one-word responses. Usually I would move along and not care, but it was <em>Percy</em>, you know? I once wrote him up for farting on a lighter to try and make a flamethrower.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper cackles loudly at that and Annabeth knows without even asking that it had been her idea. Reyna smiles a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy’s not like this at all, but I thought maybe being in the Olympics made him think he was better or something, so obviously I was going to set him straight. I had just started yelling at him about what a dildo the gold medals had made him when Clarisse showed up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse snorts, then, and Annabeth leans forward, completely enraptured.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And then?” she prompts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And then she ripped me a new one in front of everyone there,” Reyna says, laughing, and Annabeth smiles widely. “She’d been furious. And so was I, until she finally explained to me why Percy wasn’t speaking. And then I felt like shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d been there before,” Clarisse says, stepping in. “I mean—I’m not proud of the way I became Percy’s friend, either. I felt bad for her. But I also thought she was just some gorgeous asshole.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And I thought you were an asshole with fuckin’ massive arms that I really wanted to touch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And then Percy made us all sit together and talk until we realized that we were both assholes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” she sighs. “An asexual lesbian and her bisexual future wife walk into a café, am I right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excuse me, you’re forgetting the part where you were both obsessed with each other for fucking ever and it took my meddling to finally get to you to make a damn move,” Piper cuts in. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh yeah, Piper was there at some point, too, I guess,” Reyna says, waving her off, and Piper’s jaw drops in offense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know what, if this ratatouille wasn’t so damn delicious I would storm out of here right now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Babe, make sure you ruin Piper’s dinner next time, will you?” Reyna says to Clarisse, and Clarisse nods once.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Noted.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So this is the thanks I get for helping you find your soulmate. Alright, that’s fine. Sleep with one eye open, sluts,” Piper says, and Clarisse nearly chokes on her food. She points at Annabeth with her fork. “You, too, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What did I do?” Annabeth asks, pouting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s what you <em>didn’t </em>do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grimaces as Piper narrows her eyes at her, taking a rather aggressive bite of her ratatouille. Clarisse, bless her, decides it’s a good time to change the subject.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You brought your crutches,” Clarisse says to Annabeth, looking at them as they rest on the arm of her chair. “Leg been bothering you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth sighs. Maybe not the best topic change.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, it’s been aggravated lately,” she admits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Any idea why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everyday wear and tear. Probably all the standing and walking at work.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Reyna interrupts, and Annabeth’s eyes widen as she realizes what she’s said. “Why didn’t you say anything?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s nothing, really—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth, have you been on your feet ten hours a day, five days a week?” Piper asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I take breaks,” she says weakly, and Reyna yells in outrage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth Chase!” she exclaims, and Annabeth winces. “Why aren’t you sitting down at work, you fucking masochist? You could do permanent damage. You already <em>have </em>permanent damage.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m—it’s just—I—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If I see you standing up on Monday I’m going to come knock your legs out from under you, do you understand me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows and chews her food.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Delicious roast, Clarisse—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck the roast. Come to my office first thing Monday morning.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re gonna <em>fire me</em> for not sitting down?” she exclaims.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? No. I’m going to threaten your life and maybe make you cry a little.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Promise?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna glares at her and Annabeth goes back to eating her food, does her best not to think about <em>why</em> she’s not been sitting down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not such a big deal, really—she’s just been soaking her leg and taking more Ibuprofen than normal, lately. Maybe using her crutches more than she had been before she took the job. Perhaps occasionally waking up in the middle of the night from the pain shooting through the back of her leg down to her jigsaw knee. No biggie. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Reyna is stubborn and determined as ever, and Annabeth knows there will be no escaping her reprimand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She keeps her promise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On Monday Annabeth goes to her office first thing, before even settling in at her workstation, and Reyna tells her to have a seat before she pulls out a pair of stilettos and places them on her desk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Put these on,” she orders, and Annabeth gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you fucking crazy? The pain is barely manageable in these ugly ass clogs.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Exactly. The pain is <em>barely manageable </em>and yet you’re on your feet all day anyway. Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” she mutters, looking down at her lap.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe walking around in these will help jog your memory?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth glares at her boss, but Reyna doesn’t falter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are so fucking stubborn—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As are you. Why aren’t you sitting down?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth takes a deep breath, feels the flare of her nostrils as she does. She is overwhelmed and frustrated and ready to risk it all. Fuck it, right?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is harassment,” Annabeth tries.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth motherfucking Chase—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have more to prove here than everyone else, alright?” she yells, throwing her hands up in the air. “I'm already new, and I'm already, like, the dumb jock who took 6 years to finish college. I'm coming in already so different from everyone else, and I can’t sit down because nobody else does. Everyone, every single one of those people, stays on their feet all fucking day, and if I sit down then that means I can’t handle it. It means I’m not cut out for it.” She takes a deep breath. “I need to be taken seriously, here. I need to stand my ground. I can’t do that if I’m not—standing. I can’t sit down. Are you happy now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna knits her eyebrows, and Annabeth hates the pitiful look on her face. She’d rather be fired than have Reyna stare at her that way for even a second longer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t look at me like that,” Annabeth says, crossing her arms over her chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t believe that’s the standard I’ve set here,” she says, and Annabeth knits her eyebrows as she looks Reyna over. “I’m so sorry, Annabeth. This is my fault.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>What</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m the leader. I set the status quo, I determine what kind of environment we work in. If you’re too afraid to sit down at work because you think it’ll make you seem weak or unworthy—I’ve obviously fucked up majorly somewhere along the line.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not really something you have to think about,” Annabeth reasons. “You’ve never had an issue like this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I haven’t,” she says. “But how many people who have worked for me here have? And how many of them are struggling like you? This is blatant ableism, and I'm the reason it's been happening.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, it’s really not about anything you’re doing, honestly. It’s really just me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna shakes her head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If one person feels that way that means others must, too. And if that’s the kind of mindset people have…I don’t want them to sacrifice their health for any reason, ever. That is not the mark of a good leader.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth purses her lips and Reyna’s face suddenly becomes set in determination. She stands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where are we going…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your workstation. You’re going to fill me in on the SoHo project and we are going to do it sitting down, together. You’re going to take as long as you need. Okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows and nods and they walk out together. She greets a few of her team members who smile at her and lower their gaze before their eyes can fall on Reyna. Once they get to Annabeth’s workstation, they sit down together. Annabeth lowers her light-box and pulls out some blueprints from her desk drawer, and she explains her tentative plans for the SoHo location, just as Reyna asked. She risks a glance up at the rest of the open office and sees that a few people are staring in obvious confusion. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She meets one of her teammate’s eyes, Beverly, and smiles a bit, and Beverly tentatively takes a seat. When she doesn’t burst into flames or whatever else she may have been afraid of, she settles in and exhales a breath of relief, then gets to work. A few others follow suit, and Annabeth meets Reyna’s eyes and raises her eyebrows as she explains her plans for the building’s fenestration. Reyna nods, looking a bit troubled, and Annabeth nudges her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, it’s okay,” Annabeth tells her quietly. “They’re comfortable enough to sit, now, at least.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But what happens when I leave?” Reyna says. “We’re going to need to have a meeting about this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth winces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or maybe you just…don’t do that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna frowns at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As long as you lead by example, others will follow. A meeting isn’t going to change company culture. Actions will,” Annabeth tells her, and she purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm. Maybe you’re right. What about a tiny little announcement?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go for it.” Reyna looks like she’s about to stand. “Not here!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A few people look over at Annabeth’s outburst and Reyna’s eyes widen a fraction.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Later,” Annabeth says. “From the door of your office. Away from me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perhaps.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Definitely. I don’t need you drawing any more attention to me than you already have.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna pouts a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, you little bitch, damn.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nearly chokes and Reyna grins widely, nudging her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is some excellent work, Chase,” she says, standing up. “I’ll be looking for updates at the end of the week, as discussed last Thursday.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods once, and Reyna crosses the workspace to head back to her office. A couple of people who sat down earlier move to stand up again, and Reyna purses her lips and pauses at her office door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s been brought to my attention,” she begins, projecting her voice to be heard clearly, “that nobody ever sits down. Ever?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everyone purses their lips as they look around at each other, and Annabeth bites the inside of her cheek.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just…I want you all to know that I don’t expect that of you. We work incredibly long hours, and to constantly be hunching over our stations and on our feet is a ridiculous way to live. Aren’t you all in pain?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Chronically,” someone calls out, and Reyna knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’d like to apologize if that’s the standard I’ve set here. I really want you all to take care of yourselves, first and foremost.” She pauses. “I sit down all the time. What do you think I do in my office?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Someone on a different team, Annabeth thinks his name is Terry, raises his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, you also have a standing desk,” he says, and she purses her lips and rolls back her shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, well, that’s a personal preference,” she mutters, then knits her eyebrows. “Are you all terrified of me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Almost everyone nods, including Annabeth, and Reyna purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” she says, nodding once. “But just because I may set high expectations and hold you to those standards, that doesn’t mean I want you all to risk your health and well-being. Everyone deserves rest. I want you all to know that I mean that, and I really do understand.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We know,” Beverly says. “You’ve always made that clear.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna swallows and nods again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, Bev. Anyway…capitalism is a fucking disease. Please unlearn the toxic lessons it has taught you about conformity and productivity. They mean nothing to me, here.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everyone gapes at her, and Annabeth coughs to cover up her laughter. Reyna glares at her, then looks back at the architects before her. When they all look at her expectantly, she raises an eyebrow at them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Back to work.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is a flurry of shuffling and movement, and Annabeth gives Reyna a subtle thumbs up from where she sits. Reyna flips her off and disappears into her office and Annabeth grins widely, hardly notices Beverly approaching her and taking a seat almost hesitantly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” she says, and Annabeth smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Bev, what’s up?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you. For speaking to Reyna.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We were talking on Friday about my sciatica and suddenly today she’s letting us all know it’s okay to sit down? I really appreciate it, Annabeth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth flattens her lips, doesn’t know what exactly it is she should say. How could she have completely overlooked Beverly, her kindest and most considerate team member, while all it took Reyna was a single conversation? She feels like an utter piece of shit as she offers her coworker a small smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I, um…well, yeah. Of course,” she says. She braces herself to follow her statement up, uncomfortable with the admission she’s preparing to make. “I have nerve damage in my leg, so. I get it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beverly gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You?” Annabeth nods. “I never would have known.” Annabeth shrugs. “Well, I’m glad you said something. To me, not Reyna. It’s not an easy thing to manage, and certainly not on our own. You can come to me any time, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows and nods, touched by her teammate’s kindness, and the older woman smiles a bit and squeezes Annabeth’s hand before going back to her workstation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She itches to stand again, to go back to the way things were before, especially when she recognizes that most of the people in the office are <em>still </em>standing up, but she takes a deep breath and forces herself to stay planted firmly in her seat. Reyna has set an example now, has made her stance on the issue clear, but why did Annabeth ever need it from her in the first place? Why was she so fucking terrified of being the odd one out, of going against the grain? She never used to back away from the spotlight, never used to be too afraid to speak up or act differently from others.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But that was before, she supposes. When her reason for being different was that she was more skilled, more decorated, more accomplished. A time when she thought that the difference between herself and the people around her was that she was <em>better</em>, faster, more worthy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The difference now, she thinks, the true reason for her discomfort, is that there is an imbalance here that can be <em>seen</em>. A physical barrier between her and those around her, proof of her ailment. Proof of her brokenness. She can hardly speed-walk now, much less run. She will never be the best of the best again. She will just be Annabeth Chase, ex-Olympian, aching and sore and falling apart like the muscles of her ruined leg.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hates herself for thinking this way, hates that she allowed herself to become a truly awful person when she was at the top of her game, hates that deep down, she thinks she may still be that person now. Someone so prideful and so convinced of her status that she allowed it to bleed into her sense of self, to make her arrogant. Someone who, after years of being trained not just to win, but to turn into the monster she had tried for years to fight, had finally become exactly like her mother. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It makes her sick to her stomach.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grips the arms of her chair, has to fight against the urge to push herself to standing. Maybe, she thinks, that proud monster still does exist within her. Maybe that person <em>is </em>her, here and now as she sits and stews and feels her stomach twist, sour and bitter and absolutely vile. Maybe she can’t change who she is, but she can change what she does. She can change her actions, can fight off what remains of her old toxic pride. She can <em>try</em>. She has to try. If she doesn’t, she’s not sure what will become of her. It’s her only option.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste the iron in her blood and Beverly rolls over to her, a kind smile and understanding eyes. They sit together, two people perhaps afraid for different reasons, and they work.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If people are just the sum of all their actions, Annabeth thinks, her total must be astronomically low. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she will still try. If only because there is nothing else to do.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy bursts into his shared office on Tuesday morning, throwing the doors open to find the person he’s been dying to see for <em>weeks</em> finally back at his desk. He grins widely as Grover turns around in his wheelchair and Percy tackles his best friend in a hug, squeezing him so tightly that Grover’s lungs wheeze. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey Perce,” Grover chokes out, and Percy buries his face in his best friend’s curls.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so happy,” Percy says. “You’re back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulls away and smiles widely, bouncing on his heels as he squeezes Grover’s arms, and Grover grins and reaches up to smack Percy’s cheeks between his hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course I am,” he says. “Did you think I got lost in the woods?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs a bit and Grover hugs him once more, sighing heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wow, I really missed you,” he says as if he’s surprised about it, and Percy knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Duh,” he says as he pulls back from the hug, and Grover laughs. “Tell me—Canada. Whales. Let’s see Jackie.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They move out to the aquarium together to check on Jackie and catch up. Grover fills Percy in on everything he’d done on his trip up north, from his climate protests to taking care of injured humpbacks in open sanctuaries rather than closed ones like theirs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m telling you Perce, we might be doing more harm than good here, keeping her in this tank,” Grover says from the ground beneath the platform Percy is standing on. “She would heal so much faster if she was in open water. It feels…wrong. It is wrong. It’s wrong.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy frowns as he dumps three massive buckets of krill in the water for Jackie, knitting his eyebrows. Everything Grover is saying makes perfect sense, but Percy can’t think of any viable solutions.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do we do?” he asks Grover quietly, watching as Jackie makes no effort to eat at all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, that’s part of why I went up there. To build connections with the people at the sanctuary. I wanna make it so that instead of keeping whales and porpoises here, we can send them up to Canada. That way we’d focus on helping smaller creatures that are okay in tanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy nods, determined.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanna help,” he says as he climbs down the steps back to Grover. “Tell me how.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, first we need to gather some data, write up a report, and present it to the board.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grimaces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cheap assholes,” he grumbles, and Grover nods solemnly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Those are the ones,” he says quietly. “Think we can take ’em?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy narrows his eyes, watching as Jackie finally makes a move to go for the krill.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We have to,” Percy says. “We will.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glances at Grover to find him grinning, and he smiles as well. He’s incredibly grateful to finally have someone on his side about this, someone who wants to make positive changes at the rescue center rather than just get by on the day-to-day. Grover has always been by his side when it came down to it, the way Percy has always been by his. That’s how they came into each other’s lives, after all—two twelve-year-olds banding together against some asshole bullies who decided to gang up on the both of them in the locker room. Time passes, Percy thinks, but so much stays the same.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They head back to the office to get started on their new project, and in the process Percy learns three important bits of information. Firstly, Grover and his wife Juniper are trying for a baby (Percy cries just a little bit). Secondly, Juniper has been traveling along the east coast trying to build momentum for an anti-fracking movement (Percy signs her petition and tells Grover to write his name in for a volunteering slot). Lastly, Grover has been in contact with Percy’s father recently and intends to continue to do so indefinitely (he nearly chokes on his tea). Grover throws that last bit of information onto the end of their conversation like an after-thought, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, despite the fact that he delivers the news rather nervously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Percy coughs. “Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover knits his eyebrows and scratches at the back of his neck uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, it’s just, he’s so well-connected in the marina and I thought—who better to help than someone who’s already on the inside, you know?” Grover explains and Percy blinks at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s—an asshole.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover winces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, but he can also help save a lot of animals, Perce. And he’s been at the forefront of getting all the legislation passed to protect them here, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy makes a face and turns back to his desk, clicking through some datasets he thinks might be useful for their project.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You won’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Grover tells him. “But I think he’s going to be instrumental in getting what we need for all of our plans.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grimaces, but nods nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine,” he says. “I’m not talking to him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to. Promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy nods again, but he can’t really bring himself to turn around and carry on their conversation now that his asshole sperm donor has been brought into it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, so—whatever happened with this new friend of yours?” Grover asks, and Percy is grateful for the change of subject.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns around hesitantly in his chair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing,” he says slowly, and Grover rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you’re in love with her then?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not—in love,” Percy defends. “She’s just—cool. Funny. Super smart. A little bit—beautiful. A lot beautiful. Kind of—I can’t look at her? Sometimes? It’s not fair.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He winces and Grover grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” Percy says, but Grover keeps smiling. “Shut <em>up</em>, Grover.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t say anything!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy scrunches up his nose and Grover keeps on grinning and Percy groans and buries his face in his arms on his desk. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think—she doesn’t—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re friends,” Percy mumbles into the desk, and Grover sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy feels a pat on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” Grover says. “Friends make the best spouses.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy shoves Grover’s hand off and Grover laughs wildly, like this is the most fun he’s had in years.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate you,” Percy mutters half-heartedly and peeks to see Grover rolling his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You would die for me, idiot,” Grover says. “You almost <em>have </em>died for me. Too many times, actually.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well—you—yeah.” Percy sighs and sits up, resigned to his fate. “I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover smiles at Percy sweetly and smacks a kiss onto his cheek and Percy grins widely and ruffles his friend’s curls. He remembers his last conversation with Annabeth, then, the one they had that very morning. A reminder of the thing Percy isn’t sure he can bring himself to do, the topic he is far too afraid to discuss. Grover seems to notice the shift in his mood, and he squeezes Percy’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay?” Grover asks, and Percy purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s a thing,” Percy says, then frowns immediately as the word eludes him. “Oh fuck. It’s—questions. And you answer.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A test?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s like—talking and you answer questions.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“An interview?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” He purses his lips again. “There’s a kid—she’s really nice, but—she wants it. To do the thing. I think—it’s homework. Or something. But…I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bites the inside of his cheek and looks at his best friend.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not sure if you want to do the interview?” Grover asks, and Percy nods. “Well, what’s holding you back?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno,” he lies, and Grover raises one eyebrow. He purses his lips. “I don’t like…talking about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Swimming?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The Olympics. I don’t like it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this because—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Percy says. “Yeah. I’m scared.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover knits his eyebrows and reaches out for Percy’s hand, so Percy gives it to him as Grover squeezes his fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re gonna have to take care of your shit one way or another,” Grover says plainly, and Percy pouts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After Percy’s accident, the only person who didn’t treat Percy as if he was some fragile, pitiful thing was Grover. He’d rolled up to Percy’s bedside, told him he was glad he was alive, and then started talking about his most recent trip to Seychelles for turtle conservation. There was no coddling, no sympathetic gazing, no fussing. It was just Percy and Grover and a plan to get Percy to the islands to volunteer with his best friend once he was able to fly again. He was the one who helped keep Percy sane during the first few weeks after his accident, who helped him feel grounded, solid. Whole.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Percy doesn’t expect sympathy, really. But he does kind of want Grover to tell him that it’s alright to say no. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But—but—I don’t wanna,” he complains, and Grover sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perce,” he begins, “I know that it’s difficult for you, okay? I know that what happened—it was awful. It was terrifying. I also know that you told me yourself you didn’t want to let it haunt you, or hold you back from living your life. Do you remember that?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So why are you letting it stop you now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s—I don’t know. It’s dumb,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not dumb,” Grover says. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it. I promise I won’t judge you or think any less of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly, as if there’s a rock stuck in his throat, a clamp on his tongue and mind, he cannot form a single word to save his life. A jolt of panic goes through him and he takes a few deep breaths, tries to breathe through his light-headedness. He is safe. He is safe, now. He can speak. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>It’s just air</em>, <em>Perce</em>, Piper had told him. <em>It’s all just air</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This air feels heavier, though, dense and pressured and immovable. There is no way it can travel past his larynx, over his tongue and through his lips; it’s just too thick. Grover knits his eyebrows and Percy shakes his head and for the first time ever, Grover gives in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay, Perce,” he says, squeezing Percy’s wrist once more. “Let’s get some work done.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy feels all that stubborn fucking air whoosh out of his lungs in an instant as his gut twists at Grover’s words. He feels sick to his stomach, every inch of him tense and wound tight like a spring. He knows exactly why he cannot speak to Grover, exactly why he cannot bring himself to speak to Nawra, to anyone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is a fear that rests deep within him, past his vocal cords, down in the pit of his belly, at the tip of his nerves and the edge of his gut. He’s gotten quite good at ignoring it, manages just fine, until one wrong move sends a shockwave out from his core through the rest of him, radiating in a sickly pattern, waxing and waning, ebbing and flowing until it overwhelms him. He feels it now, paralyzing him, keeping him in its grasp, at its will. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s not strong enough to fight it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and gets back to work with shaky hands, the words and numbers on the pages before him swimming, floating, rearranging. Mocking. Mimicking, really—what is he if not a thing that swims and floats and rearranges itself until it cannot remember what it was to begin with? What is he if not a collection of letters begging to be understood, revising, editing, being cut down into something fathomable, coherent? At any given moment he is constantly forced to erase, to rewrite, to renew some part of himself that is not good enough, not strong enough to survive the process. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He floats and swims and rearranges and at the end of the day the only thing he has to show for it is a scar that runs along the length of his scalp and a set of lungs full of air far too heavy to move.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe, he thinks, this is all he will ever be.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then he feels Grover’s hand on his shoulder, firm and steady and pushing down on him until he can feel his feet rooted in place. He takes one breath, then two, counts and pushes the air around until it becomes lighter, easier. Grover tugs on Percy’s curls gently and Percy holds his friend’s hand against his head, inhales deeply once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s all just air. As long as he can breathe it, he can speak it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he takes a deep breath, and he speaks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He calls her early on a Saturday. It’s not a particularly special day, nothing more than a free morning and an empty schedule, but he realizes that he wants to fill up all his time, every spare moment, with her. He doesn’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way Annabeth Chase knocked down the doors to his heart and settled herself inside, cozied up on the couch with a cup of coffee and a piercing stare. He thinks maybe it was the second she looked at him with those terrifying eyes, thinks he just went ahead and handed it over to her on a silver platter, one that matched the color of her irises, the warmth of her skin. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He might be a little bit fucked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she agrees to go on a walk with him, no crutches needed today, and he just cannot bring himself to care.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They meet on the steps of the Met once more, and she looks just as beautiful as always, her blonde curls piled up in a bun that rests at the top of her head, a long coat on over a hoodie and joggers. It’s a simple look, one that he nearly matches to a T, and the realization makes him smile widely as she approaches him and he offers her the coffee he grabbed on the way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why do you always do that?” she grumbles, taking the cup from him. “Stop being so fucking considerate.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins widely and gives her a one-armed hug, and she returns it quickly before pulling back. She has that frustrated look on her face again, the one she makes when she seems to be in deep thought about something that is pissing her off to no end. He runs his thumb over the crinkle between her eyebrows and she frowns and scrunches them together even more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay?” he asks her, and she purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s just walk.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They do just that, moving in silence as they enter the park and start down the path. Percy steals a few glances at her from the corner of his eye, waiting for her to say something, but when it doesn’t seem like she will, he decides it’s best to stay quiet. He enjoys the silence, after all—he just can’t deny the sudden realization that he actually quite prefers talking when it’s with her. Well, he prefers listening to her. He could fucking sit there all day with his mouth zipped tight as long as she was rambling and ranting and pouring out every thought that came to her mind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wants to memorize every way she speaks, the lilt of her faint accent, the highs and lows of her pitch, the variations of her inflection. He wants to shut his eyes and hear the way her tone changes when she's angry, excited, full of hope, completely devoid of it. He wants to listen to every single fucking thing she could possibly say, down to the most mundane detail. He would do it this very moment, if only the words would leave her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t believe how desperate he is to hear her voice, actually, and he is nearly about to say something when she speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry. About before,” she says, crossing her arms to keep her jacket closed. “I’m just kind of having the world’s shittiest day.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns and knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wish—why didn’t you say? You didn’t have to come,” he tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hesitates as if she’s considering her words.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanted some fresh air. Good to clear our heads, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods as they walk along, and he gets ready to say something else when a jogger runs past and basically body-checks Annabeth, bumping into her bad side hard enough to send her stumbling backward. Percy catches her and she winces as she lands on her left leg.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, watch it—<em>fucko</em>!” he shouts after the man, but the jogger doesn’t even look back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth looks at Percy, a massive smile starting to break out on her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you just say—<em>fucko</em>?” she says, giggling, and he grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bucko—fuckface—fucko.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs harder, then, and Percy joins her, covering his face with his free hand. She pulls it away, holding onto his wrist, and he buries his face in her shoulder instead. She tenses up a bit and he goes to pull back, but she moves her hand to his hair and runs her fingers through it gently. He gets chills from the top of his scalp down to the soles of his feet and he exhales a contented sigh at the soothing rhythm of her touch before she tugs on his ear and takes her hand back. He stands up straighter, then, finds that she’s smiling a soft little thing, one that melts his icy heart, and he sends it right back to her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I like that word,” she says, grinning. “Fucko. Has a nice ring to it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” he laughs, nudging her, but she smiles wider.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean it. I’m adding it to my dictionary.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolls his eyes as she sips her coffee and raises her eyebrows at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s go, fucko, keep it moving,” she says as she turns and continues down the path.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely and takes two long strides to catch up with her, bumps into her side gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bad day?” he says, and she shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m just kind of…” She takes a deep breath. “You know how some days you wake up and everything just pisses you off to no end? Like, you stub your toe when you get out of bed or your coffee machine breaks or you keep dropping things and every little thing feels like the one that’s just going to send you over the edge?” Percy nods, and she sighs. “That’s the kind of day I’m having.” She pauses. “Well, that’s the kind of day I <em>was</em> having. Until you called.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises his eyebrows and does his best to suppress his smile, and she glances at him and rolls her eyes at his expression.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” she says, but he can’t stop his smile from growing. “I mean it, Percy. I’ll leave you here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You won’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But I made your bad day—good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grimaces and takes a sip of her coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wouldn’t go that far,” she says, and he raises one eyebrow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nope. It was a nice distraction, maybe, but nothing more than that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he was a lesser man he might be offended by her words, but he has far too many emotionally stunted friends to take what she’s said to heart. In fact, she’s basically just professed her love to him. He makes sure to let her know as much, and she glares at him. He just taps her nose twice and she smacks his hand away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm,” he hums as he sips his tea. “How do we fix it? Your bad mood?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She snorts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ice cream and a movie marathon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins widely, his eyes widening in excitement, and she stops and looks at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” she says. “No—I meant—<em>alone</em>. You can’t come.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m coming.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can’t—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He places his hand over her mouth and she looks so enraged that it nearly makes him recoil. But he is just as stubborn as she is, if not more, and he will not be backing down today.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth, trust me,” he says. “I make the best sundaes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She narrows her eyes at him and bites his palm hard enough for him to jerk away from her, waving his hand back and forth to alleviate the pain. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“First of all, never interrupt me again,” Annabeth says firmly. She pauses, then. “Also, I don’t have any whipped cream.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay. Bodegas are good when—you’re in a bad mood.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips and he just keeps grinning, hoping that she’ll just fucking let loose already, until she eventually sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cheers, waving his arms in the air victoriously, and she stops him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can come on the condition that you shut the fuck up and let me wallow in peace.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises his right hand in a pledge and she wrinkles her nose at him as she looks him over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re pushier than Piper,” she says and walks past him and out of the park.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She taught me how,” he tells her happily, trailing behind, and she sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course she did,” Annabeth grumbles. She glances at him over her shoulder. “Come on. We have to decide on a movie queue.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s not quite sure what he expected Annabeth’s apartment to look like, but he was certainly not anticipating how fucking massive it is. She lives in an expensive area as it is—if anything, he thought she might be in a studio or a tiny one-bedroom like his. But when she opens the door and he is greeted by a huge open floor-plan, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a kitchen island that doubles as a table for <em>five</em>, he feels his jaw drop in shock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can put the bags down on the counter,” Annabeth tells him as she kicks off her shoes and sheds her coat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He would do as she says, but the sight before him is too overwhelming for him to do much else but stare as he toes off his sneakers. Her living room, immediately to his right, has not one but two full-sized couches, a large, comfortable-looking recliner, and a huge TV. She has enough room for a dining area—a <em>dining area </em>in<em> Manhattan</em>—that looks out over the skyline before them. She steps in front of him and snaps her fingers in his face, and he shakes his head, coming back to reality.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello, earth to Percy?” she says, and he blinks at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—you’re—<em>rich</em>,” he says, and she knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, dude we talked about all those fuckin’ endorsements I did,” she responds, and he gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, but it—it’s—a lot of fuckin’ money!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She frowns at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Didn’t you make a lot of fuckin’ money?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um. Hospital stuff. My mom’s apartment. It’s almost gone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes widen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Didn’t they give you an insurance plan?” she asks him, and he feels his face twist up in a grimace.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It wasn't the games,” he tells her. “It wasn’t—it was after. Not a part of it. So…they said no.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gapes at him in shock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” she breathes. “You literally fucking cracked your head open and they just left you to rot in a hospital bed?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and bites the inside of his cheek hard, nods as he averts his eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about that right now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pieces of shit,” Annabeth growls. “Fucking—we’re just tools to them. That’s all we’ve ever been. A way to show the world that Team USA is the best of the best, another way for them to assert their dominance and stake their claim.” She shakes her head and places her hands on his shoulders, holds his gaze. “Fuck them. We’re better off now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t help but smile a bit at the intensity in her eyes, how angry she is on his behalf. She knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you smiling?” she asks him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re angry with me,” he says, and she shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. I’m angry <em>for</em> you. And for me. And Clarisse and Jason and every other one of us who became an afterthought. It’s bullshit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re angry with me.” Her gaze softens as she realizes what he’s saying, and she nods. “I never had—thanks.” She nods again. “Fuck ’em, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck ’em,” she says. “Buncha dildos.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs, then, and she smiles widely and drags him over to the kitchen island, unpacks their bags. He gets out the supplies they bought while she grabs bowls, spoons, and whatever else they might need. She pauses as she hands him an ice cream scoop and tilts her head at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, I think we forgot that it’s 10 in the morning,” she says, and he knits his eyebrows as he takes the scoop from her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So?” he responds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck it, you’re right. You do that, I’m gonna prepare the film.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He snorts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you direct it?” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna direct my foot up your ass,” she threatens.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pumps his eyebrows up and down suggestively and she punches him in the arm and shoves past him to the living room. He makes quick work of the sundae, despite Annabeth constantly calling out to him about what she does and does not want on hers, disrupting his thought process. He is about to put on the finishing touches when she yells,</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No cherries!” and he freezes and turns to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” he says, shocked. “No <em>cherries</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No cherries,” she confirms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuckin’ disgrace.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She scrunches up her face, offended.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re objectively disgusting. They taste like sugary asshole.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nearly chokes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They do not,” he says, laughing, even though he kind of agrees with her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They do too,” she argues, “And they’re so rubbery. It’s vile.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns and throws three cherries in his own bowl and leaves hers without, then cleans up his area. As he works she comes up beside him and helps him put things away where they belong. He is ready to roll up his sleeves and clean the scoop at the sink when she stops him with a hand on his arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do not wash that,” she says. “That’s what the dishwasher is for.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have one?” She nods, and he knits his eyebrows. “You <em>use</em> it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course I do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t trust them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s because you’re a fuckin’ freak.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rinses off the scoop and shoves it in the dishwasher beside them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on, our ice cream is melting,” she says, grabbing his arm and dragging him along. “Get your bowl.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He barely has time to reach out and grab it before she drags him forward once more and nearly throws him onto the couch. He is still reeling at the fact that she has just manhandled him across her apartment when she pulls her knees up to her chest and tosses him a blanket, then wraps herself up in one of her own. She looks cozy and unnervingly adorable as she eats her ice cream and Percy cannot help but smile at the sight of her round face and hands peeking out from the blanket she’s cocooned herself in. She glances at him as she presses play and starts the movie.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” she says, and he grins wider.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re cute,” he tells her before he can stop himself, and he feels his eyes widen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Why is he such a dumbass? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her cheeks tint pink, and she clears her throat as she sits up straighter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” she says, then takes a massive bite of her ice cream. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely and turns back to the TV, relieved that she has moved on so easily. He does his best to focus on the film that’s playing, but apparently her idea of a movie marathon involves architecture documentaries, and he is bored out of his mind just 20 minutes in. All he can focus on is the way her knee is pressed into his thigh, how she moves closer to his side any time some new fact is revealed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He steals glances at her periodically, watches her as she takes in the information, sees her face light up in surprise, intrigue, admiration. His heart stutters in his chest every time she shakes her head in awe, every time her eyes widen or narrow or light up with glee. He can’t believe something so fucking bland is getting such a reaction out of her, but he decides that watching her is better than any dumb movie he could’ve put on instead. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Warmth spreads through his chest as he looks over to see her knitting her eyebrows and frowning at the screen, muttering something about how the documentary is inaccurate, how some fact they presented has actually been proven wrong now. How such a massive fucking nerd like her exists, he has no idea, but one thing he is certain of is the fact that he utterly adores her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is still staring when she takes her last bite of the sundae and starts chewing on her spoon, smearing ice cream at the corner of her mouth. He has a sudden, intrusive thought, then, an urge to kiss it away, and it is so strong that he feels his head tilt forward. He shakes his head to clear the thought and grabs a tissue from the box on the glass coffee table, then throws it at her face instead. She grimaces at him and throws it back at him, then licks both corners of her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did I get it?” she says, eyes still locked on the screen, and he doesn’t realize that he’s staring at her mouth until she turns to face him fully and flicks him in the forehead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter, looks back at the TV.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmhmm,” he manages to hum, hoping the burning in his face is not betraying him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You hardly touched your sundae,” she tells him, sounding a bit disappointed, and he looks down at the soupy mess in his bowl.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” he mutters. “Forgot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He steals a look to find that she is narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t trust a man who can’t finish an ice cream sundae,” she tells him, and he feels his heart start pounding in his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How the fuck is he supposed to tell her he has been way too distracted staring at her for the past 45 minutes to give a shit about a stupid bowl of ice cream? He can’t. He absolutely cannot. But he finds himself staring at her once more, dumbstruck as some of her curls fall down around her face, her eyes sharp and focused intently on him. How is she even real? How can someone be so fucking enchanting? How is he meant to do this for another 10 hours without snapping and kissing that skeptical look right off her face?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t handle it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is about to make some excuse to leave, a way to get out of there before he does something incredibly stupid, when her face softens and she squeezes his arm gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, you okay?” she asks him gently, and he swallows and shakes his head. “What’s the matter?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I-I-I—um.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grimaces in pain and points at her mouth and she knits her eyebrows in confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is talking, like, hard right now?” she asks, and he takes a deep breath and nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not a <em>total </em>lie. It’s not the full truth, either, but that’s neither here nor there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s alright. You don’t have to,” she tells him. “Let’s watch something else. This documentary is way outdated and it’s pissing me off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely, then, unable to help himself as her forehead crinkles and she angrily exits out of the program. She looks up at him, a deep frown etched onto her face, and grimaces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just smiles wider and buries his face in her shoulder that’s wrapped up in the blanket. It’s soft and warm and smells like lemons—like <em>her</em>—and he wishes he was dead. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you laughing at me?” she asks, and he nods against her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She jabs him in the ribs with the remote and he winces and pulls back from her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fucko,” he says, rubbing the spot as he places his bowl onto the table, and she grins wickedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be such an ass,” she tells him. “So I enjoy a good documentary. Who doesn’t?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, maybe I’m just more…evolved.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or pretentious.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She narrows her eyes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Word of the day?” she questions, and he nods proudly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper must have—she had a feeling. She knew—I was gonna see you today.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s jaw drops in offense as Percy laughs wildly at his own joke, grateful for the banter that’s put some room between his desire to kiss her and the rest of his brain. As he laughs at her she moves up the couch, further away from him, and he can’t stop the wave of disappointment that crashes over him at the new distance. He frowns at her as she shoves her feet in his lap and he squeezes her toe through her owl sock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” she says, kicking at him, and he raises his hands in surrender.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She settles down and chooses a new film—<em>Legally Blonde</em>, a true classic—and he burrows into the back of her disgustingly plush couch. He feels warm and content as he rests his arms on her shins, leans back towards her to get a better view of the film. The opening scene is playing when he feels her poke the top of his head with the remote.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” she says, and he tilts his head back to look at her upside down. “Nawra’s interviewing me tomorrow. You wanna come and listen in?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows. After his talk with Grover on Tuesday he knows he has some shit to work through before he can bring himself to do the interview himself, so he’s hesitant to agree. But Annabeth didn’t ask him to do the interview—she asked him to listen to hers. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about what it might be like, what Annabeth’s answers might entail. Plus, it’s just more time he gets to spend with her, isn’t it? More time to savor the way she sighs after her first sip of coffee, the way her eyes darken when she feels challenged, brighten when she’s intrigued, the way she tries to purse her lips to stop herself from smiling and fails miserably every time. There’s not enough time in the world, he thinks, but he might as well take what he can get.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, okay,” he mutters, and she scratches at his hair. “No talking, though.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not from you,” she reassures him. “I’ll warn you, though—I can never shut up once I start.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely and leans back into her hand, rubs his head against it. He does his best to relish the contact, becomes hyperaware of every place they are touching. Her feet and legs in his lap, her hand in his hair, his arm resting against her thigh. Thousands of nerve endings, every single one alight and buzzing, burning and longing for more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t think he can hold back any longer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” he says quietly, pressing closer into her side. “I like listening to you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mm,” he hums as she twirls his curls around her finger. “Nice voice. Smooth. Calms me down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not gonna fall asleep on my couch, are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t realize it until she says it, but his eyes are shut gently, and he can feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Five minutes,” he mumbles, leaning back until he’s lying between her body and the couch, and she sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Invite a boy to your house for movies and he falls asleep before they even start,” she sighs. “Typical.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins and nestles into her side, rests his head on her hip, and she goes back to playing with his hair. Her hand moves slowly, soothingly, she is warm and gentle and everything he needs; he doesn’t know when he last felt so safe.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Can she blame him, really, if he slips into unconsciousness, only thinking of her? Can she fault him if, when he wakes up and finds her curled around him, snoring gently, her face mushed into the couch, he feels his chest heave and his lungs fail him as he realizes he is in far too deep to ever make it out alive?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t think she can. All that’s left to do now, he supposes, is to shut his eyes and hope for the best.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth doesn’t know why she’s done what she has. She doesn’t know why, after struggling to answer Nawra’s questions <em>without</em> an audience, she has invited someone else along to witness her interview live in action. She regrets her decision up until the moment she spots Percy enter the coffee shop from the far door, obviously looking around for her. She parted ways with him not even twelve hours prior, but she realizes with a start that she has actually <em>missed </em>him. She knits her eyebrows as he catches her eye and smiles brightly, points at the drink line to let her know he’ll be ordering.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks fucking incredible.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not fair, really, how handsome he is. He’s wearing a maroon crewneck and black jeans and a fucking hooded jacket and somehow he still looks gorgeous despite the simplicity of it all. He gets on the line and shoves his hands into his pockets, turns around so that he can face her. He sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes and Annabeth wants to punch him in his stupid beautiful face, but all she can do to let out her frustration is flip him off. He smiles widely, entirely amused, obviously not caught onto the fact that she wants to kiss him until she’s dizzy and it’s making her borderline homicidal. He continues to pull faces at her until the barista calls out for him to come forward and his eyes widen as he spins on his heel quickly and heads over to order his drink. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">She grins amusedly, watches as the barista takes his order, the way Percy seems entirely relaxed while he interacts with them, completely different from the first time she ever watched him talk to a stranger. His shoulders are down, he’s talking with his hands, and the cashier is smiling like crazy, as if he’s telling them a funny story. </span>He must be having a good day today, she decides, and the thought warms her all the way through.</p><p class="p1">She’s happy for him, she realizes. At some point she became utterly invested in his progress, in how comfortable he is with talking, how strong he feels. She <em>cares </em>about him, and not just because she thinks he looks like a damn Greek god; he’s her friend, and she wants him to be safe and happy and well. She thinks he deserves all that and more.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wonders what he thinks of her. She wonders if he thinks of her, period.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before she knows it he is right in front of her, and she realizes that she has been staring at him way too long for it to be normal. He places a bag down in front of her and she knits her eyebrows in confusion but opens it up nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He got her a fucking lemon poppy seed scone. The flavor that she revealed as her favorite yesterday after they’d woken up groggy and lazy and confused on her couch. He’d yawned and stretched and turned on his side, wrapping his arm around her waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She’d thought that nothing had ever so felt natural with anyone in her life.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s your favorite—baked thing?” he’d asked her tiredly, his voice deep and rough with sleep.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Scones,” she’d answered immediately, and he’d looked up at her like she was crazy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re so—dry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So eat them with a warm drink, fucko,” she’d said, and he laughed hard, burying his face in her side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d tensed up a bit at the contact, her mind reeling and her heart beating erratically in her chest. He’d just snuggled closer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What flavor?” he’d muttered, and when she told him he smiled like it was the best thing he’d ever heard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d had a thought that she wanted, with every fiber of her being, to be the reason he smiled like that every fucking day for the rest of her sorry life.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, as she stares at the scone and looks up at him, she knows with near certainty that he most definitely does think of her. In fact, she might be convinced that he thinks of her almost as much as she thinks of him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s not sure what to do with that thought, but she doesn’t have the time to dwell on it or fucking shove her face into a pillow and scream about it until her lungs give out the way she wants to, because he finally speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, fucko,” he greets, and she is so taken aback that she snorts, covering her mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Morning, fucko,” she says back, and he grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He moves over to her side of the table and places his tea onto it, leans down to hug her. It’s an awkward angle so he kind of ends up just wrapping his arms around her neck, and she grins and does her best to hug him back. He pulls away, presses a quick kiss to her cheek as he goes, and she feels her face burning at the contact, itching at the grazing of his stubble against her skin. He is still casual as ever, shedding his jacket and taking the seat beside her as if he hasn’t just made her heart explode in her chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hates him, a little bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns to face her and smiles a dopey sort of thing, rests his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How are you?” he says, and she tries to force herself to bite back her smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She fails miserably.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wonderful, and yourself?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His grin gets impossibly bigger.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wonderful,” he tells her. “You look very nice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just very nice?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Very very very nice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excellent. Beautiful. Um—” He frowns and knits his eyebrows. “Wonderful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You stole my adjective,” she says instead of forcing herself to acknowledge the one he'd used before it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tucks it away to fixate on later.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns his head and points at the left side of it, a few inches above his ear. She notices for the first time that he has a part there, almost as if someone shaved a line down that portion of his head. His curls are long enough to fall over it slightly but it becomes clearer the longer she looks at it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Talk to the brain damage,” he says, and she chokes on her coffee, sputtering as she laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” she coughs, laughing hard, and he joins her. “You’re terrible.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m allowed,” he says, then grabs half of her bagel that’s sitting in front of her from earlier.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, asshole,” she exclaims, swatting at his hand, but he takes a bite and looks at her with wide eyes, half-terrified and half-amused. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He chews for a while, a thoughtful expression on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do it,” he says once he’s swallowed, and she grabs her bagel back and kicks him in the shin. “Ugh, no fair!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubs at his leg, and she smiles smugly and gets back to eating her breakfast. He pinches her calf and she smacks his hand and soon they are fighting like a couple of children, flicking foreheads and pulling hair and jabbing at each other’s ribs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, is this a bad time?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They freeze when they hear Nawra and turn to her slowly, their eyes wide. Percy at least has the decency to be embarrassed as he releases Annabeth’s loose curl and sits back into his seat. Annabeth quits pinching the meat of his arm and clears her throat as she straightens her posture.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning,” she greets Nawra in her most professional tone, and Nawra smiles a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Morning,” she says. She looks at Percy, then, and her gaze drops down to the table. “<em>Sabah al-khair</em>,” she says quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Sabah al-noor</em>, Nawra,” Percy responds smoothly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth is proud of herself for recognizing the simple phrases she’s learned since discovering Percy can speak Arabic perfectly until he says something else and she is totally lost. Annabeth pouts and Nawra just blinks at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh?” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh yeah. Algeria,” he mutters, then purses his lips. “I can’t—I don’t know Algerian Arabic.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s okay. I don’t know Palestinian Arabic,” she says plainly. “Guess we’ll stick to English.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns as if he’s disappointed, but nods. She places her drink on the table and unpacks her binder and laptop and sets out her phone, then takes her seat across from Annabeth and folds her hands in front of her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” she begins, looking between them. “Does this mean Percy has agreed to the interview?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s eyes widen as he shakes his head no.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just—listening,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For now,” Nawra mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles at him brightly and turns to Annabeth, leans in conspiratorially. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll get him soon,” she whispers, a bit too loudly, and Percy gapes at her, obviously having heard what she said.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth just does her best not to laugh and shakes her head slightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s start,” she says instead. “What are we covering today?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Glad you asked.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pulls out a five-subject notebook and drops it onto the table with a loud smack. Annabeth and Percy both jump a bit at the sound and Nawra thumbs through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So I think I’ve decided on a topic, finally,” she says. “Remember how I was thinking about athletes and mental health or whatever?” Annabeth nods. “Well, almost all the research shows that in general, student athletes have lower rates of anxiety and depression and whatever else. But I think there needs to be more emphasis on specific kinds of athletes—the ones who are Olympics-bound, or who want to make professional careers out of it. I don’t think they have the same experiences as everyone else. So I want to explore that part of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, like, the dark side of professional sports or something?” Annabeth asks, and Nawra nods vigorously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Exactly,” she says, pointing at Annabeth. “I know for a fact that you can’t deal with all that pressure and come out the other side, like, a normal functioning person.” Annabeth stares at her, her eyes wide, and Nawra tilts her head. “Well, at least not unless you have a support system that’s healthy and doesn’t add to that pressure. But parents are fucking wild when it comes to their kids’ sports, so I’m assuming they’d need like, some intense therapy after all is said and done. Maybe some soul-searching. I don’t know. Whatever. You get it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods slowly, not liking the direction this has taken. She thinks she gets it more than Nawra could ever possibly understand, and she’s not quite sure how to feel about this new development.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you, um, sure this is the direction you’d like to go in?” Annabeth asks. “It might be kind of—intense.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra looks at her, unblinking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, exactly,” she says. “I talked to my advisor and he said I shouldn’t do anything I’m not passionate about. And I’m passionate about this; I want to know the truth. I want to know how fucked up shit can get when everything is on the line. I mean, think about it—athletes are already like, these super intense and competitive people. Put them in a position where their futures depend on their performance, where their every action is recorded and analyzed and picked apart and revisited just so they can go back and do it all over again—it’s a frickin’ powder keg. It’s an accident waiting to happen. One wrong move and <em>bam</em>!” She smacks her hand on the table and Annabeth startles a bit. “You explode.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows and glances at Percy to find that his eyebrows are knit together tightly, furrowed so deeply that they nearly touch. He looks as concerned as Annabeth feels, and he meets her eyes, sends her a questioning look, an <em>are you okay with all of this? </em>In all honesty, Annabeth’s not quite sure she is, but she’s already made a commitment, and she’d feel awful if she backed out now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods her head slightly to let him know she’s alright but he doesn’t look convinced, and he grabs her hand that’s resting on her lap and squeezes her fingers firmly. She squeezes his hand back and they both turn to Nawra, who’s eyeing them with a curious look on her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, then,” Annabeth says. “Do your worst.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, seriously?” Annabeth nods. “Okay. Holy shit, I didn’t think—okay. Cool. Perfect. Yes. Um—just, like, tell me if I’m triggering you or something and don’t feel like you have to answer anything that makes you uncomfortable and also thankyousomuch you’resofuckingcool Iloveyoutodeath.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs a bit and Nawra smiles shyly and looks down at her notebook.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s start with your childhood,” she says simply, and Annabeth’s laughter dies in her throat. “Did you always want to be in the Olympics? Were both your parents athletes? Did they pressure you into it? Were you happy then? Are you happier now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” Percy mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, that’s a lot of questions,” Annabeth says. “One at a time maybe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right, sorry, for sure.” She takes a deep breath. “When did you decide you wanted to be in the Olympics?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth takes a steadying breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, I didn’t, really,” Annabeth says. “Well, actually—I did. Kind of. At first. I think I was like seven or eight and…my mom—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Athena Gold, super scary, like 12 billion gold medals,” Nawra clarifies, and Annabeth nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, her.” She tries to suppress her grimace, but obviously Nawra catches onto it, because she starts taking notes. “My mom would always be training, and I’d train with her. I really liked it, because I got to spend time with her and we would bond and stuff, you know? But then, um…she competed in her last Olympics and so she decided that she’d make an Olympian out of me. When she told me I was so happy because it meant I could spend even more time with her.” She knits her eyebrows and swallows. “So I guess…she decided, but I was on board. I wanted it, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But you were 8,” Nawra confirms. “And motivated by your desire to spend time with your mother who was probably extremely busy and didn’t have much space for you in her life up until that point?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s eyes nearly pop out of her head and Nawra seems to realize what she’s just said.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” she mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s—you’re right. Yeah. That’s exactly it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra purses her lips and Percy squeezes Annabeth’s hand once more, scoots his chair closer to her. His knee presses up against her thigh and she crosses her ankle with his. He moves closer still.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So it was never totally, completely your choice, then?” Nawra asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles a bit sadly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it wasn’t. But that’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it. I did, especially when I was young.” Annabeth grins a bit. “I was always the fastest in my class, and I could beat all the boys and they absolutely hated me for it.” Nawra grins widely and Percy smiles. “And I made a lot of friends through the clubs I was in, and I got to meet all of my heroes. It was really great. The good parts were <em>good</em>, you know? They made up for the rest.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What was the rest?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth bites the inside of her cheek.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, the regimens. The strict diets and the rigid schedules and the constant practice. There was never really any free time, you know? It was always train, train, train. I had one day off a week, and I spent it doing cupping or physical therapy or cold sits. But I knew I had to if I wanted to qualify. I needed to get to the Olympics more than anything in the world, so I felt like it was worth it. And I did it. I made it.” She narrows her eyes as she looks down at the table. “It was never enough for her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The table is silent and Annabeth realizes what she’s just said. She knits her eyebrows takes a deep breath, looks Nawra in the eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen to me, are you listening? Get your notes ready.” Nawra’s eyes widen and she straightens in her seat, her hands resting on her laptop. “I’m not going to rehash the past, okay? I don’t think it’s productive. I want to help you, and I will—but not like this. What you need to understand, above all else, is that your hypothesis, your prediction, whatever the fuck—it’s right. You are right. There are people, especially Olympic athletes, who go through hell to make it to the top. Whether it’s to meet the expectations of their parents or for their own pride or both, they will sacrifice so much of themselves, will tear themselves apart, just for the chance to be the best in the world. And at the end of the day, when all is said and done, do you know who remembers them?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra shakes her head no. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No one. No one ever remembers them, and no one cares, either. They spend their entire lives working towards a goal that will last them three days, tops, and then they get cast aside and left in the dust and they’ll probably spend the rest of their lives searching for meaning and purpose because the only thing they could ever plan for was the competition. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Do you see how pointless it all is?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra nods, her eyes wide as saucers behind her glasses, and she swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—um, I do,” she says. “Can I just—” She clears her throat. “If I could offer a counterpoint.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go for it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I understand what you’re saying about the pressure and the not knowing what to do with their lives and the buildup. But I don’t think it’s for nothing. I think they spend their lives working towards a goal that they successfully achieve, and that in and of itself is enough. Don’t you think that all of that effort culminating in the thing that’s been their life’s greatest ambition is what matters most? That they did it, and they should be proud? Who cares if no one remembers them? Who cares if it only lasts a day? They know for themselves what they’ve done. They can take pride in that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows, realizes for the first time that she hasn’t actually considered that point. She thinks back to her talk with her old mentor, immediately before her second injury, thinks about what he told her, about living for herself, moving forward for the sole purpose of her own betterment, with no one to please or disappoint except herself. About looking inward, asking herself where her true motivations lied, asking herself what kind of person she wanted to become. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a deep breath through her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re right,” she tells Nawra. “It should be enough. But if you’re going to be focusing on the toxic athlete’s mentality, you need to understand that almost all of their motivation is extrinsic. They don’t act for themselves—they do it for others. The second that validation is taken from them, they lose themselves. They have no idea who they are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth feels Percy tense up next to her, and she glances over at him to see that his mouth is set in a hard line, his eyebrows knit as he stares down at the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe I shouldn’t generalize,” Annabeth says slowly, turning back to Nawra. “I should just—I shouldn’t generalize. That’s what my experience was like. I’m talking about myself. I can’t speak for everyone, but I can speak for me. And that’s one of the biggest reasons I was so…so…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fucked up?” Nawra suggests, and Annabeth gives her a look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thin ice, kid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra flattens her lips together and ducks her head, nearly hiding behind her laptop as she types. Annabeth purses her lips as the reality of what she's just admitted hits her. She's definitely going to have to give her therapist a call after this.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But yeah,” Annabeth says. "That's exactly right."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” she says, and Annabeth tilts her head in confusion. “I never…when I came up to you that day, yelling about how much I loved you, and then during our last interview...I realized kind of early on that, like, there was something maybe you weren’t ready to talk about, so I tried to reel it back, but—I should’ve been more sensitive. I’m sorry about that. I always just saw you as my hero. It was easy to forget that you’re a real person when I spent so long idolizing you, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth feels her face soften and she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s alright,” she says, her voice suddenly thick for reasons she can’t explain. “Thanks. For apologizing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"There's something else," Nawra says quietly, and Annabeth tilts her head. "I never told you because I thought maybe you'd get freaked out, but I should have, and I'm sorry." She takes a deep breath. "Our project...whoever's research gets judged as the best has their work published in the academic journal of their choosing. Mine would probably be like, the APA or something, but...shit. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I should've told you sooner."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gapes at her, at a total loss for words. How the fuck is she meant to react to something like this?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We don’t have to…I can just do research," Nawra says. "I was dishonest. I shouldn't have lied, and it wasn't fair to you. You don’t have to do this anymore. Really.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That seems to awaken something within Annabeth, who shakes her head. She's in far too deep to back out now. And, she realizes with a start, she doesn't <em>want </em>to back out now. She wants to help Nawra, despite the lie of omission. She wants to finish what she's started. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. I made a commitment, and whether or not you lied, I’m going to follow through on it. You wanted a case study, right?” Nawra nods. “Here I am. Let’s continue.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—wanna do it,” Percy says, and Annabeth and Nawra both gape at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>What</em>?” they ask in shock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and holds Nawra’s eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanna do it. I think—it’s good. What you’re doing. It’s important. People need to know. Kids—they need to understand. Before they commit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra gapes at him, her mouth hanging open, and he tilts his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is she okay?” he asks Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Give her a second, I think she’s buffering,” Annabeth responds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy fucking shit!” Nawra exclaims, and Annabeth nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And she’s back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you serious? Do you mean it? You’ll do it, too?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will,” he says. “Not right now. But…soon.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks about ready to faint.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you so much,” she whispers. “Oh, God. I feel a little light-headed. I think I need some air.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, shit,” Annabeth mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m just gonna…” she trails off and stands, heads outside.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth and Percy watch through the windows of the storefront as Nawra leans back against one of the large windows and seems to take a few deep breaths. Then she straightens and pumps her arms in the air triumphantly. They can hear her screaming a loud FUCK YES from their spots inside, and the people passing by her on the sidewalk keep a wide distance, staring at her in horror. Annabeth smacks her hand over her mouth and tries to suppress her laughter but Percy has no such qualms and loses it, throwing his head back and clutching his stomach.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” he laughs. “She’s like—not real.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s a character, alright,” Annabeth says, chuckling as Nawra walks back into the cafe.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes her seat and clears her throat, rolling her shoulders back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, now that that’s taken care of,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stare at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence, and she looks back at them, smiling with her mouth closed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I help you?” she asks politely, and Percy chokes on his tea.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you gonna ask some more questions now?” Annabeth says, and Nawra nods but doesn’t move.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I think…maybe I’m just a little too excited to function right now,” she tells them calmly. “I might need, like, 3-5 business days to process all of this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth tries to bite back her smile and Percy drops his head onto the table, his shoulders shaking as he laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly, as she sits there watching Nawra jot down a few notes, watching Percy become absolutely fascinated with the girl sitting across from them, something in her clicks. After learning the truth about Nawra's project, this doesn't all seem so fruitless anymore, like some silly school assignment that she's agreed to do out of pity. It feels like something purposeful, something that could have real meaning, reach. Something that could make a difference for a kid like Annabeth, for those who have no semblance of autonomy, who can only live their lives for those who hold them captive. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Of course Annabeth is still doing the interviews to help Nawra, but she recognizes now that this, in and of itself, is an act done for her own sake, too. Now, she has the freedom to make this choice, to talk openly about what she has been hiding for so long. Now, she is the one in control of her actions, she is the one with the voice and the power. She has been out from under her mother’s thumb for years but she has been so ashamed of her past that she hasn’t truly given herself the chance to face it head-on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She decides then and there that she will not take her freedom for granted any longer. She taps the top of Nawra's laptop twice to get her attention and the younger girl stares up at her with wide eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"We have a lot of work to do," Annabeth tells her. "You up for it?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra smiles so brightly you'd think she's just won the lottery.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Fuck yeah."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, well—Annabeth couldn't have said it better herself, really.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Few things to note:<br/>-Chapter deals with feelings of inadequacy, self-doubt<br/>-One section in particular has references to domestic abuse and has a vague mention of something kind of gory (not described in detail)—I’m going to mark it with the *** … *** so you can skip it if you need to (it’s Annabeth’s second section, about halfway through)<br/>-I will recap anything significant to the plot next time so please don’t feel like you have to read it if you’re not comfortable with the subject matter<br/>As always, thank you so much for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy isn’t quite sure how he managed to convince Annabeth to come to the rescue center with him, but he finds himself riding in the passenger seat of her car on a Saturday morning in October nonetheless. She was meant to have an interview with Nawra today but the younger girl canceled last minute, blaming her “useless fuckin’ womb-hog” for it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So apparently she has a twin,” Annabeth had said, and they'd looked at each other in a mixture of horror and amusement. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy could not stop himself from imagining what Nawra's twin might be like, if they are half as eccentric as their sister, if they’re the total opposite. He’s never met someone quite so excitable, so inquisitive (present company excluded), so uninhibited in their joy. When she’s excited, it shows. When she’s anxious, it shows. When she’s shy or embarrassed or absolutely anything, she has no fear of expressing it totally and completely. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s kind of Percy’s hero at the moment. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s fairly open with his emotions, he knows, at least more open than most. But there are times he buries his feelings deep down in the depths of his belly, ignores them as they burn and hiss and rumble. Eventually they harden, form a knot that weighs him down, heavy and overbearing and demanding of his energy. That’s when he must finally release them, before they become so permanent they fuse with the lining of his stomach, become a part of him he cannot remove. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He’s been doing it far too often lately, avoiding, minimizing, deconstructing. There is one particular emotion he has reserved for the woman sitting beside him that has been clawing its way to the forefront of his mind, but he can’t quite let himself feel it in its entirety yet; it’s far too powerful. </span> <span class="s1">He’d like to think he expresses it in little ways, does his best to let it out slowly, bit by bit. A coffee in the morning that she doesn’t ask for, a book he sees as he passes by a shop window, a walk through the park when she’s up for it, keeping her company at home when she’s not. He can’t help himself, really—it’s impossible for him to feel the way he does and not let it show at least the slightest bit.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She has quickly worked her way into his life (or maybe he’s weaseled his way into hers) and now she is just as permanent and just as significant as Piper or Hazel or Grover. She is one of his best friends, and so he takes all the things he feels for her and channels them through that part of him, the part of him that loves her as she is now, as his best friend. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t really afford to show it any other way. He’s too afraid to lose her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they arrive at the center Percy takes her immediately to see Jackie, who is being taken care of by the weekend vets and techs. As they walk into the open aquarium, he sees one of them, Dina, feeding Jackie a bunch of krill, and he grins. Aside from Grover, Dina was one of his first friends at the center, one of the first people to make him feel welcome and comfortable. When he saw her olive skin and dark brown eyes, the bump on the bridge of her round nose, he'd blurted out that she looked like his second cousins, and she snorted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I probably am your second cousin," she'd told him in Arabic, her Syrian accent easy to discern.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then he'd begged her to help him because he was terrified and confused and nobody could understand anything he said. They'd been quite close ever since.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Ehlayn ya Dina</em>,” Percy calls out from where he stands at the bottoms of the tank, and she grins down at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Ya hala, ya hala</em>,” she says. “Why are you here today? You’re supposed to be frolicking around Manhattan.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolls his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanted to show Anna—Beth—Jackie,” he explains and Dina smiles down at Annabeth and waves. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello Anna Beth,” Dina greets, and Percy winces as she spaces out Annabeth’s name. “Percy has the world’s worst manners and refuses to introduce people, but I’m Dina.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bites his lip, embarrassed at having forgotten that part, but Annabeth laughs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s nice to meet you, Dina,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’s Jackie?” Percy asks. “She okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can come up and see if you want. I think she’s doing a lot better. She breached today.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s jaw drops in shock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She—breached?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dina smiles widely as she dumps the last bucket of krill into Jackie’s tank and climbs down the steps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was incredible. Nothing crazy, she didn’t come too far out of the water, but it’s the best we’ve gotten in months.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles widely and places his hand over his heart.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God. I think—I’m gonna cry,” he says, and Dina laughs at him. He turns to Annabeth. “Jackie—she’s got a bad fin. Um—really big cut in her side. She breached—it’s the first time in months—I think. Since she got here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles warmly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s incredible, Perce. I’m so happy for her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me, too.” He turns to Dina. “Think she’ll leave soon?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dina places her hands on her hips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know. Maybe. We have to give her more time to heal fully, first. But she’s on the right track.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grins and Dina sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’m gonna head into the office if you guys wanna hang around here,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raises her eyebrows at Annabeth as she walks by. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good luck with this dweeb,” she mutters to Annabeth as she goes, and Percy flips her off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns to Annabeth, then. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna go to the top? Are you okay with—stairs?” he says, and Annabeth purses her lips. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I should be fine I think,” she says. “It’s not too many.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We can stay down here,” he says, sensing her hesitance. “Better view anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods, looking a bit relieved, and they walk up closer to the tank and watch as Jackie grabs a massive mouthful of krill. Percy can’t stop the smile from growing on his face and he nudges Annabeth excitedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s fucking huge,” Annabeth breathes. “It’s like—she’s so<em> big</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs happily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he says. “Isn’t it beautiful?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s terrifying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks at her in shock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Imagine swimming in the ocean or being out on a boat and <em>that </em>thing shows up? It could whack you across the sea with its tail. It could fuckin’—eat you whole!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy frowns, suddenly feeling incredibly defensive of his favorite animal.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Thing</em>?” he says. “She’s—a beautiful humpback. She’s perfect. And no whales can—swallow you whole. Their throats are too small.” He pauses and frowns. “Except—sperm whales. But still. And even if it did—eat you—it’ll spit you out. ’Cause we’re too big.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, but how long would it take to realize that we’re stuck inside it before it does? We’d drown in its huge fuckin’ mouth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy frowns again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a scaredy-cat.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grimaces at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am not. I’m just being realistic.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not realistic. Whales don’t eat people. Whales eat fish and krill. You’re not—special. It’s not gonna eat <em>you</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her jaw drops in offense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s rude,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not rude. Realistic.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She narrows her eyes at him and looks about ready to destroy him when suddenly there is a spray of mist raining down around them—Jackie has surfaced for some air. Percy laughs wildly, wiping at his face with his sleeve, and turns to see Annabeth laughing as well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jackie says—fuck you,” he says, and Annabeth covers her mouth as she snorts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t have the heart to tell her she’s probably just gotten whale snot in her mouth, so he grabs her hand instead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on. We have lots to see,” he tells her and pulls her along with him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They head out to visit the other animals: orcas, sea lions, different species of endangered fish. When they get to the spotted turtles Annabeth gasps and frowns sadly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh no, what happened to this little one?” she says, sitting down beside the shallow tank and looking at Flo, who is resting on a rock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows and kneels beside her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Her legs—tangled up in plastic. Circulation got cut off,” he explains quietly. “They had to—she lost her front ones. They’re working on—um, shit.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows and does his best to remember the word he is searching for when Annabeth looks at him, her eyes wide and misty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You okay?” he asks her, and she swallows and shakes her head, looking back at Flo.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s so sad,” she says, her voice thick. “All the animals we’ve seen today—they’re all injured because of <em>us. </em>It’s either shipping containers or fishing nets or trash. They deserve so much better than what we’ve done to them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy takes her hand and squeezes it gently, and she squeezes his back. She looks like she wants to reach out and pet Flo with her free hand, but she stops herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” he tells her. “You can touch her. If she lets you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth reaches out tentatively and runs one finger along the turtle’s shell, so gently it looks like her hand is barely touching it. Flo stays where she is, doesn’t try to retreat, which Percy takes as a good sign. Annabeth takes her hand back and juts out her lower lip in a pout.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love her,” Annabeth says. “I would die for this turtle. What’s her name?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Flo.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth moves her head to try to make eye contact with the animal.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Flo, I would die for you. I want you to know that,” she says seriously, and Flo blinks slowly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She says thanks,” Percy tells her, and Annabeth grins at him, sniffling a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, you can talk to her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmhmm. I speak sea animal.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles a bit wider.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh yeah? What’s that big one over there saying?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy looks at the massive turtle Annabeth is referring to. He narrows his eyes and purses his lips, humming in thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“His name is Dayo,” Percy says. “He’s cranky. He says—he’s a monster. He hates whales.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth punches Percy’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” she laughs. “I don’t hate whales. I just think that large bodies of water and every creature in them are terrifying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pouts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Even Flo?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles a bit and touches Flo’s shell more confidently, but just as gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Flo is the exception, not the rule.” She sighs dreamily. “I wish I was Flo.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows and laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” he asks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, not Flo. But a turtle in general. They never have to worry about being fast. They can take their time, and live their lives, and just fuckin’ hide in their shells when the going gets tough. That’s the dream, man.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grins and nudges her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You? Slow? Miss Olympics?” he teases, and she quiets.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks at her, narrows his eyes, watches the way her guard goes up in real-time, sees it for himself. The dulling of her bright eyes, the flattening of her easy smile, the slight flare of her nostrils, the way she suddenly cannot look him in the eye. He knits his eyebrows and tilts his head and tries his best to get the words out properly, because he needs her to understand that <em>he </em>understands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do a thing,” he says, and she furrows her eyebrows in confusion as she looks at him. “It’s like—like—” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He huffs out a breath, does his best to just take his time and find the right words. A jolt of recognition goes through him as he sits up straighter and widens his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Elevator doors.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks confused as ever and he leans back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like this,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He holds his arms up in front of him, palms facing each other with a big gap of space between. He slaps his hands together, sealing the gap, and she seems to understand what he means.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You close up,” he clarifies. “Shut—shut down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She swallows and looks down at the tank beside them and he frowns and nudges her shoulder with his.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” he reassures her, and she looks at him, eyebrows raised hopefully. “Words are hard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely at that, hopes she gets the joke, and she grins and nudges him back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on,” he says as he stands. “Sharks are next.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He holds out his hand for her and she looks up at him cautiously, seems to be making a decision. She takes his hand and he tightens his grip on her as she stands, squeezes her fingers. She squeezes his back and he smiles widely, pulls her along. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t miss the subtle curve of her lips or the way her eyes meet his once more. How could he, when every look she sends his way throws his heart into overdrive, makes him feel like it might explode out of his chest? How could he ever focus on anything else whenever he’s fortunate enough to be near her?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make it to the shark tank and her eyes widen in wonder, and perhaps a bit of fear, and she turns to him, smiling so brightly it makes his chest ache. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wants, with everything in him, to say exactly what is on his mind at that very moment. But the nagging in his gut, that leaden, wretched knot he has yet to rid himself of, reminds him that he cannot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As if it’s traveled its way up his throat, he feels it resting heavy on his tongue, bitter. He couldn’t speak the words if he tried. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe, he thinks, it’s for the best.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth is confused. Flustered. Perhaps a bit…perturbed. Perhaps a lot perturbed. And it’s all Percy Jackson’s fault.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their day together started off well enough. They arrived at the Met at exactly the same time, Percy greeted her with her usual cup of coffee and his now-normal kiss on the cheek that still makes her heart race, and as they climbed the steps they made a plan to visit every single exhibit the place had to offer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It didn’t happen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Instead, after Annabeth had gotten side-tracked in the Ancient Greek and Roman rooms and told him about them all at length for literally <em>hours</em>, Percy pulled her along to the Middle Eastern art section, and he got his chance to teach her something new. She already knew quite a bit about Islamic architecture considering how visiting Istanbul as a teenager was what made her fall in love with the craft in the first place, but hearing what Percy had to say about what they saw made the experience infinitely better. Despite the fact that he had told her he is not Muslim, he still knew a great deal about what they were looking at, took pride in all the works before them. Plus, it got him talking more about his family, which she loved more than anything.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My mom—she loves it,” he had told her. “We came all the time. When I was little. Me, her, and Hazel.” He grinned widely. “Me and Hazel got in trouble—a lot. We tried to hide behind the—the—” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d frowned then and gestured to the pieces before them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tapestries,” Annabeth said, and he nodded, grinning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. Almost knocked down a jar, once. Playing tag.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s eyes widened in shock at his words, and she was surprised by how upset the thought of losing such a precious piece of history made her. He’d frowned at a display case, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s all—stolen,” he had muttered. “Almost everything in the room. They took it. During wars—after they killed all the brown people.” He’d grimaced, disgusted. “Colonizers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth, having never considered that reality, was speechless. She realized that despite the fact that they were in the same place, looking at the same exact items, what they were seeing could not be more different. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I never thought about that,” she’d muttered. “That’s really fucked up, actually.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just nodded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is,” he affirmed. “It’s why I don’t—put anything. In the donation box. Fuck them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knit her eyebrows and frowned, suddenly put off by the absolutely massive collection before them. How had all of this history gotten here? How had all the Indigenous art, the African artifacts, ended up in a fucking behemoth of a museum, curated and displayed with tags sourced <em>unknown</em>? Through murder and theft. It unsettled her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck them,” she agreed. “God, white people really do ruin everything, don’t we?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked at her and grinned, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If I take you to my apartment—are you gonna steal my stuff?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her jaw had dropped as she punched his arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” she’d laughed, and he just smiled wider and grabbed her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on. I’m so hungry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that is how they end up at Percy’s tiny apartment, squeezing past each other in his even tinier kitchen, making unusually prolonged eye contact until they finally both realize how long they are staring and break apart quickly. Annabeth clears her throat and moves fully out of his space, and he sticks his head in the fridge and rifles around for some ingredients.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pasta’s okay?” he asks her, his voice muffled, and she nods before realizing he can’t see her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perfect,” she says, her cheeks still hot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pats at them and tries to shake her thoughts from her head, and when he pops back out of the fridge he very obviously avoids her eye-line. She clears her throat as he gets started chopping up some tomatoes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think it’s time for me to snoop,” she announces. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It does the trick; he finally looks at her so he can grin over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can,” he laughs, turning back to the cutting board. “Nothing to hide.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No?” He shakes his head. “Not even a collection of gold medals, perhaps?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs fully, then, and waves her off with his knife.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go away,” he says, and she grins and takes the two steps she needs to get to the living room. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From the moment she stepped inside the space she was in awe of the way it was completely bathed in natural light, bright enough today so that they didn’t need to use anything artificial. He has two small windows that open up on either side of a larger one which takes up almost the entirety of the far wall of the room. The window in the kitchen above the sink lets in more light still, soaking Percy in the yellow glow of the afternoon sun. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The space isn’t messy, really, but it does look lived-in—shoes left on a small rug next to the door, books and loose papers lying around the coffee table, little succulents on the windowsill, a knit throw-blanket on the back of the couch, and pictures of family absolutely everywhere. They are hanging on the walls, sitting on the TV stand, next to the fish tank in the corner of the room, taking up every bit of open space there is. Annabeth looks at them all, sees some that look quite recent of Percy and all his friends, some that may be slightly older—she spots an 18-year-old Piper McLean in the middle of a cartwheel in one frame, then her falling on her ass the next spot over, and she grins widely. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth focuses mainly on the ones of Percy as a child, cannot believe that the little boy in the photos grew up to be the man standing ten feet away from her this very moment. Well, she supposes she can, actually—he was short and skinny and completely baby-faced, but he still had the same curly hair, the same light in his eyes, the same amused crinkle in his nose that he gets now. In quite a few of them he is standing beside who Annabeth assumes is his mother, a fairly tall woman with skin a shade lighter than Percy’s, long black hair curled in tight ringlets, with a smile that matches his exactly—one that takes up the entirety of her face, blindingly bright. She notices a pointed lack of any photos of a man who might be Percy’s father, but she decides it needs no explanation; she is all too familiar with that particular absence herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth picks up a photo of Percy and Hazel where their faces are smeared with chocolate ice cream as they grin at the camera, their front teeth missing. She realizes then that quite a few of the things she saw earlier must belong to Hazel—the tiny tennis shoes by the door, the animal anatomy textbooks, the pink corduroy jacket hanging on the coatrack. Signs of their love, scattered about casually, without a second thought. Natural.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does Hazel live with you?” Annabeth asks, picking up another photo.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nah,” Percy says, laughing a bit. “Might as well. She’s always here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles lightly and looks at the photo in her hand. This one shows Percy, Hazel, Nico, and someone who Annabeth assumes must be Hazel’s mother—a gorgeous young Black woman with velvety dark brown skin and her braids wrapped in a large twisted bun at the top of her head. The kids all look much older, probably in their late teens at that point, and Annabeth wonders exactly how their little family came to be. She is so focused on the photo—on Nico’s shy smile, Hazel’s massive one, Percy holding up bunny ears behind Nico’s head, the way Hazel’s mother seems to be so natural and comfortable with the three teenagers, as if she raised them all herself—that she doesn’t even notice Percy come up behind her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We were cute, huh?” he says from over her shoulder, and she jumps a bit, places her hand over her racing heart.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she gasps, smacking his arm, and he swats her hand away gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I called you like—10 times,” he tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. I was very focused.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“On the picture?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods and he takes it from her, smiles down at it warmly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I miss Marie,” he mutters. “I don’t remember—the last time I saw her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She doesn’t live in the city?” she asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Brooklyn,” he says. “She has a restaurant. New Orleans—soul food. The best food on <em>earth</em>.” He turns to her with wide, sad eyes. “I’m <em>starving.</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m telling your mom you said someone else has the best food on earth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t know my mom.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know enough.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sticks his tongue out at her so she gives him the finger. Fair enough retaliation, she thinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is when—Nico started coming by us more.” Percy frowns down at the picture. “Hazel never knew him. They were both 11. When they met first.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows in confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She realizes exactly how, and her eyes widen as she shuts her mouth tight. Percy glances at her and smiles a bit, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nico’s dad and mom—broke up, kinda. She was pregnant with Nico and—she didn’t know. He met Hazel’s mom and she—they were together a month. He went back to Nico’s mom after—she told him she was pregnant. He had a daughter with her already. Hazel’s mom—after he left—she decided she didn’t want him to know. So Hazel never knew.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” Annabeth breathes. “How did she find out?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Her and Nico went to the same school—sixth grade. It was an accident. Hazel’s mom picked her up one day. Nico’s dad was there. He did the math, I guess.” Percy frowns, then. “He tried—taking her away. Hazel hated it. She hated him; she didn’t know him. It was really hard—Nico had a really hard time. He didn’t want Hazel at first. But he was lonely. He wanted to know her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But what about his older sister? Their dad’s first kid?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy swallows hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She…she died. Car accident. Nico was 10.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s why—he wanted Hazel so bad. Her dad. He didn’t wanna lose another kid. And Nico—Hazel never even looked at him. She said she already had a brother.” He knits his eyebrows. “He hated me—a really long time. Because of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth exhales a heavy breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I had no idea,” she mutters, and he smiles at her a little sadly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re okay, now. Hazel went back with Marie. Stayed by her dad and Nico on weekends. It worked out at the end.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So how did you go from Nico hating you to this?” Annabeth asks, gesturing at the photo.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Took a long time. A <em>long </em>time. Seven years.” Annabeth whistles. “Yeah. I guess—Hazel tried to make him comfortable. She made us hang out. Talk and stuff. And Marie always—she loves him a lot. Even though he isn’t hers. He’s Hazel’s brother so—she loves him. It helped him a lot, I think. He’s better now. Happier.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles a bit, remembering the way Nico had chased Percy into the water on the beach, attempted to drown him every chance he got, not to mention how obviously in love and openly affectionate he was with his boyfriend. He certainly seemed much more lively than the bleak image Percy painted of him. She hardly knows him, but it makes her chest ache thinking about how much pain he must have been in, losing his first sister and fearing that he might never get to know his second. It probably killed him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m happy for him,” Annabeth mutters. “He seems like a good kid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s the best,” Percy agrees, smiling fondly as he puts the frame back where it belongs on the windowsill. “Even though—he’s a bitch, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs and shoves Percy’s arm lightly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be rude,” she laughs, and he grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can be—whatever I want. My house.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth rolls her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How about you be quiet?” she suggests, and his jaw drops in offense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No lunch. You don’t get any.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off, that sauce smells incredible.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And you’ll never taste it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She flips him off and he wraps his arm around her neck, drags her over to the stovetop. There’s penne boiling on one burner and a pink sauce simmering on another. He grabs a wooden spoon and scoops up a bit of the sauce with his left hand, blows on it gently, holding his right hand beneath it in case it drips. He offers it to her, then, to taste, and she stares at him, frozen in place as her heartbeat hammers in her throat. He scrunches up his face in confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Taste it,” he says, and she shakes her head stiffly. He frowns. “Why not?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly her throat is very dry, and she just can’t find it in her to speak. She feels herself grimacing and she watches in real-time as his eyes narrow and he looks at her skeptically, as if he’s trying to read her mind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She absolutely hates it when he does that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His focus becomes entirely, overwhelmingly directed at her and her alone, he sucks in his lips until they get small and crinkle together, and he makes it seem like, at any moment, he will finally be able to hear every thought that passes through her head. It’s entirely unsettling; maybe a small part of her finds it the slightest bit attractive, but she still fucking despises it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop that,” she says, finding her voice in her frustration. “I hate it when you do that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Look at me like that. Like you’re trying to read my mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just tell me—what you’re thinking. If you hate it so much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m thinking you need to take two steps back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He seems to realize, then, how close they are standing, and his cheeks darken as he moves away from her. He sucks in one of his cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t—I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She exhales through her nose, realizes that she has been holding her breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever. Gimme the spoon,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grabs it out of his hand and tastes the sauce, then immediately regrets her decision because of fucking course he’s an incredible cook on top of everything else.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know what,” Annabeth says, handing it back to him. “Fuck you, Percy Jackson.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He places his hand on his chest, leans away from her as if he’s wounded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. You. You come in here and make a fucking <em>phenomenal </em>vodka sauce from <em>scratch </em>and you buy me coffee and tell me about your family and you look like <em>that</em>, and it’s fucking bullshit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gapes at her, his mouth slightly ajar, and she takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re the worst,” she says and turns to rest her hands on the countertop. “I can’t look at you right now. Stupid green eyes. Stupid scruffy beard. Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a deep breath and tries not to think about what she has just said, and they are silent for two beats before he says,</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the fuck?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She winces a bit, keeps her eyes trained on the backsplash in her eye-line. It’s nice—white tile, clean lines, perfect and elegant as is. Against it leans a small, rectangular dish painted with the image of an incredibly detailed rooster standing tall and proud, its head feathers long and luscious. It seems a bit out of place in the minimal space, but there is something undeniably beautiful about its stance, the colors it contains. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can you—what the fuck?” Percy says again, and Annabeth takes a deep breath and turns to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How can I help you?” she asks calmly, leaning her left side against the counter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy shuts one eye and scrunches up his face as he tilts his head, as if he is trying to fight off a massive migraine. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just—say it again. What you said before,” he says, rubbing at the side of his face. “I don’t—I think I heard you wrong.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth prays he actually did, but she also knows there’s a very good chance he did not, and she’s not quite sure she’s ready for whatever conversation might follow if that’s the case. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly, like a blessing from the heavens, the stovetop hisses, and they find that the pasta has boiled over and water is spilling on the burner beneath it. Percy curses and shuts the stove off, then asks her to grab the “holey thing” from the counter. He strains the pasta in the sink and they purse their lips as he inspects it, poking it with a fork.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mushy pasta,” he mutters, then turns to her. “It’s your fault.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>My </em>fault? How could it possibly be my fault?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—your—speech! Fuckin’—you distracted me!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You distracted me first!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He opens his mouth to argue but then bites his knuckles instead, glaring at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go sit,” he orders sternly, and she scowls at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t tell me what to do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He groans and collapses over the sink and she supposes, if she doesn’t want to kill him, she should probably listen. She does just that, taking her place at his tiny round table which is set with two blue plates that are just centimeters away from touching. She knits her eyebrows and frowns at the gap between them; she’s not quite sure if she wants them closer together or farther apart. She doesn’t have time to decide—Percy arrives at the table with a serving dish and he spoons enough pasta onto her dish to fill it, then does the same for himself. He returns with a grater and a block of fresh parmesan and shows her the items in his hands in a question. She nods once and he grates a bit over her food, looks to her for direction, and she gives him the OK sign. He leaves once more, returning with a plate of garlic bread, and offers her some as her jaw drops.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When did you make this?” she asks, taking a piece and setting it on her napkin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When you snooped,” he tells her, then grabs two pieces for himself. “It’s cheesy. Is it okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods once and feels her earlier surge of anger return. She cannot believe this man is real. He takes his seat across from her and their knees knock together and he sends her a sheepish, apologetic look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” he apologizes. “Small table.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t care about that,” she says. “You just cooked me a full meal and you’re apologizing about the size of your table? Where are your priorities?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins down at his plate and his dimples show through the stubble of his beard and she wants to fucking flip the little table over. She becomes even more enraged when she tries the food and it tastes better than it looks. She exhales heavily through her nose and he glances up at her nervously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay?” he asks, and she glares at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck you,” she says angrily, then takes an aggressive bite of her garlic bread.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It is so delicious. She wants to punch a wall.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck you, too,” he responds, and his tone is so indignant that it breaks through her anger and makes her smile widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs a bit, as does he, and he bumps his left knee into her right one twice. She bumps him back the same way, and he grins at her, and she forces herself to try to pretend that she has not adored and pored over and memorized every single smile he has ever sent her way. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s killing her, a little bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After they finish eating, Percy washes the dishes while Annabeth dries them, and she lets herself live for a moment in the utter calm she feels as they work together in synch. It feels incredibly domestic, and she realizes that she actually quite likes it. It’s simple and easy and in the quiet of their work they can just be together, no pounding hearts or close encounters or burning skin. Maybe just a longing stare or two. Certainly not from her, though. Not at all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finishes up with the last dish and hands him the towel she’s been using so he can dry his hands. He starts putting everything away and once he is done he leans on the counter beside her, face to face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They are jarringly close. Closer than they’ve ever been purposefully, closer than they’ve ever been <em>alone </em>and purposefully. Usually there are others around, buffers, ways to cut the tension. Right now it is their thighs and hips and chests and the warmth of his breath fanning over her face and Annabeth feels a bit dizzy at the proximity. He is looking into her eyes so intently that it shocks her, the way it always does. The way he looks into her, always. He looks and looks until he finds what it is he’s been searching for and he sticks around even then. He always stays. No matter what he discovers there inside, he will never leave. Because that is who he is. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It doesn’t make her angry, this time. In fact, she might not want it to stop just yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He reaches out and her breath catches in her throat as his fingers brush her cheek, but they move into her hair and he pulls out a piece of grey lint, holds it up for her to see. He frowns and knits his eyebrows in concentration, as if he’s trying his best to think of the word but it will not come to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thingy,” he decides, and she feels a smile tug at her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuzzy,” she says, and his eyes widen to the size of saucers as he steps back from her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tries not to feel disappointed at the cold air that now occupies the space he once did, warm and close and alive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Again,” he demands excitedly. “Please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuzzy,” she repeats, and he laughs wildly, loudly, uninhibited.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cannot help the smile that overtakes her face at the sight of him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuzzy!” he yells, still laughing. He grabs her arms and shakes her. “Fuzzy! Oh my God!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He keeps on laughing, cackling like a madman, leans on the tiny island beside him for support. His joy is bursting out of him at every seam and it is absolutely infectious—soon, she’s laughing right along with him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you—do—how long?” he laughs. “How long?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How long you’ve been trying to find the word?” He nods and she giggles a bit. “Tell me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Two years!” he shouts, and then he loses it all over again. “Fuzzy!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They are absolutely hysterical and neither of them tries to stop it as they feed off of each other’s amusement. Eventually he calms down enough to speak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I asked—I asked a lot.” He shakes his head. “They always said—it was—a different one. Another word.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks at her desperately, shocked, like he didn’t expect to lose that one too, and she frowns in thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lint?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes widen again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuckin’ lint.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head, then smiles brightly and starts laughing all over again. He pulls out his phone and holds it up to show her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper,” he says, and she smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth watches him as he taps through his phone, watches the way his smile grows so large his eyes crinkle shut, the way he cannot bring himself to hold back the absolute elation he so obviously feels. This man is a ray of sunshine and she is a thundercloud and she cannot bear to be the one who dulls his light. She swallows hard, the laughter gone from her as her stomach twists in on itself, as the crushing weight of her realization hits her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is angry, not at him, but at herself. He is perfect and wonderful and so fucking kind and she is broken and bitter and selfish. She hates him because he is everything she will never deserve, and it is eating her alive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She will not dull his light, she decides. No matter what she feels, no matter what happens—she will not be the one to bring him down. He has been through so much, fought through things far worse than she will ever be able to comprehend, and has come out the other side an absolute fucking treasure, a sunflower in the middle of a wasteland. She could never forgive herself for blocking out his sun. She will not be the one to let his flower wilt away—she will <em>not</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As the sun sets the room becomes dimmer, an orange haze cast over the little island Percy leans on, and she has a thought that he might be the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper answers the phone and Percy immediately screams FUZZY and there is laughter and joy and triumph and Annabeth falls back into the only corner of the room without any light. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fitting, she thinks. Perhaps it’s where she belongs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*** … ***</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even before Reyna asked her to lunch this morning, Annabeth had been having an incredibly stressful week.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It began on Monday, after she spent basically an entire weekend with Percy. She hadn’t realized just how much of her time she’d dedicated to him; it was easy to forget when she was too busy trying to savor every second of it to notice the hours passing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She entered her office that morning to find her team in utter disarray, rushing around and tossing pencils at each other and fussing over blueprints. Apparently, Beverly informed her, the deadline for their initial project plans needed to be moved up so that their clients might argue some cases with respect to a few of their zoning issues. There would be absolutely no rest for Annabeth or any of her team members, it seemed, until Friday at 8 a.m. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This proved to be truer than ever on Wednesday evening when Clarisse showed up at Annabeth’s apartment unannounced, with a covered dish and an uncomfortable look on her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I come in?” Clarisse had asked in lieu of a greeting, and Annabeth stepped aside so her friend could enter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m just working on some project plans,” Annabeth told her. “It’s been an insane w—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” Clarisse said after setting down the dish on Annabeth’s kitchen island. She paused. “No pun intended.” Annabeth grimaced and Clarisse knit her eyebrows. “I have one thing to say, and then I’m leaving. No beating around the bush.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nodded, her stomach twisting anxiously, unsure about what was about to happen. There was no way Reyna would have sent Clarisse to Annabeth’s house to fire her, was there? And certainly not in the middle of a massive project like this one, that would be outrageous—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will fucking murder you if you ever do anything to hurt Percy Jackson,” Clarisse said instead, and Annabeth felt the breath leave her lungs in a whoosh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She certainly wasn’t expecting <em>that</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know if you two are just close friends, I don’t know if he worships the ground you walk on and you hate his guts, I don’t know if you like him or tolerate him or whatever the fuck. But if you have any doubt at all, any inkling that you can't handle it, you need to let him loose. Because he does—worship the ground you walk on. And he hasn’t—I don’t remember the last time he’s—he has a lot of insecurities. He has problems that we can never understand. And you know for a fact that if anything were to ever happen between you, anything bad—he would never forgive himself. Not for that, and not for what happened three years ago. Because he <em>would </em>blame it on that. He does it every day. But he <em>fights</em> it every day, too. And he wins that fight, most of the time. So I won’t have you fucking up his progress.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth could only stare at Clarisse, totally speechless, her mouth hanging open the slightest bit. She wasn’t quite sure she was even breathing—it was only after taking a deep breath that she realized she hadn’t been. She knit her eyebrows and tried to form a word, anything at all, but came up short. And so the two women stood facing each other quietly, one stoic and fierce, the other utterly perplexed, until Annabeth’s work phone started to ring and snapped her out of it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have to…” she trailed off and went over to find that it was her client calling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I brought you a pie,” Clarisse muttered, and Annabeth looked at her, eyes wide. “Chicken pot pie, actually—it’ll keep in the fridge for three days. Reheat it in the oven—275 until the middle is warm and the crust is crisp.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then she left, and all Annabeth could do was answer her phone and try to put the encounter out of her mind until her work was properly done. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After that, it seemed, she only had more to worry about. Another knot for her stomach to twist into, another layer of guilt and fear and shame to settle over her in the quiet moments when she had time to think and process. When she was working, there weren’t many of those moments to spare, so she did what she had to do—she worked, nonstop, until Friday morning came and went.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, remembering the encounter as she sits across from Reyna at a restaurant in their office’s building, Annabeth realizes that this will not be a business lunch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please just say it,” Annabeth finally says after nearly 15 minutes of awkward small talk. “I can’t fucking take it. Say it. Say what you have to say. Clarisse talked to me. And now you’re going to. And I’m going to fucking stab myself in the eye with the salad fork if you don’t just<em> say </em>it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna stares at Annabeth with wide eyes and then clears her throat, nodding.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Clarisse was wrong to say what she did to you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>What</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Should I repeat myself? Clarisse was wrong.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth has no idea what to do with this information, especially not after she has spent the past week internalizing every word Clarisse said. She thinks Clarisse was probably very right to say what she did. She thinks she’s incredibly selfish for ever believing otherwise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna sighs when she realizes Annabeth will not be speaking any time soon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy is a grown man, Annabeth,” Reyna says. “He doesn’t need anyone to fight his battles, and I’m not here to do that either. Although I would kill anyone who ever hurt him,” she sends Annabeth a pointed look, “what he does and who he does it with is up to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarisse is...extremely protective. She’s operating off of guilt and shame and a host of other things she hasn’t processed from her past. Like Percy. They’re two sides of the same coin, you see. They both love too fiercely, with everything they have. They would both sacrifice anything for their loved ones. The difference, though, is that Percy would let the world burn for the people he loves—Clarisse would be the one lighting the fires.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth feels her eyes widen a fraction, cannot imagine feeling anything so strongly, much less love. She hasn’t opened herself up to something so devastating in years—she doesn’t even know if she can let herself feel so much, anymore. After so much time spent with that door sealed tight, she thinks it may be rusted shut. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ghost of a fear she hasn’t felt in ages suddenly makes itself known to her, tickling her gut, sending a chill down her spine.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This is not the time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy hasn’t really had anyone in a long time. Since his accident. There was…well, it doesn’t matter. But ever since, it’s been self-inflicted. Purposeful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows. Despite thinking that she might know the answer to the question, she has to ask anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s faced with the constant task of being misunderstood. It’s difficult for him, not to be able to fully express himself. He can speak, sure, but he feels like it doesn’t hold the same weight. He freezes up, too. Not as much as he used to, but it still happens. And of course there’s his whole thing about not wanting to be a burden on the people he loves.” She rolls her eyes. “As if anyone who really loves him would ever care. He doesn’t accept help easily—letting someone in would mean making that a constant. He has trouble with it, even now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods. She can relate to that a bit too intimately. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I get that,” she says quietly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know you do,” Reyna answers, and Annabeth looks up at her. “That’s why I’m asking you not to take whatever Clarisse said to heart. I’m sorry if she worried you at all.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows and shakes her head a bit, but Reyna seems to see right through her unspoken lie.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just…proceed with caution,” Reyna says gently. “I’m not saying don’t be with him—I think you should, actually. This is the happiest I’ve seen him in ages. I’m just saying...” Her eyes move around the room, her slender fingers grasping the glass of water in front of her. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their waiter returns with the food they ordered earlier at that exact moment (thank <em>fuck</em>), granting Annabeth the opportunity to avoid responding to Reyna’s last statement. She’s not exactly sure what she would say back, anyway—<em>don’t worry, Reyna, I wouldn’t dream of it seeing as I have about 26 years of trauma to work through, but I appreciate the concern</em>. She actually considers it for a moment, but she stuffs her mouth full of chicken before she accidentally lets it slip. After five minutes of silent chewing and avoiding eye contact, Annabeth sighs and places down her utensils.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know you think Clarisse was wrong,” she begins, and Reyna watches her uncertainly, “but the fucking pie she brought me was the most delicious thing I’ve had since her roast last month.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna slams down her utensils. The stuffy businesspeople surrounding them startle and stare, but neither woman really cares.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And she never makes <em>that </em>dish, either!” she exclaims incredulously. “I’m telling you the woman <em>tortures </em>me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins widely and Reyna returns it, and despite the fact that she has just willfully derailed the conversation, she can’t help but feel relief at the fact that their relationship seems to still be intact. She’s not sure about her friend’s wife, though.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarisse…do you think…does she not want to see me anymore?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth surprises herself with how quietly she asks the question, with how afraid she is of the answer. Reyna knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Chase, are you insane? Clarisse loves you,” Reyna assures her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t really see the look on her face, though,” Annabeth mutters, looking down at her plate.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna sighs heavily, and Annabeth glances up at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“While my wife is incredibly talented at almost everything she does,” Reyna begins, “she lacks a certain quality that most people need to move through the world quietly: tact.” Annabeth does her best to suppress her smile, and Reyna grins. “She just…she loves him so much, you know? But just because she loves him, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you, too. You might find it hard to believe, but that conversation she had…her intention was to protect you just as much as it was to protect him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How so?” she asks, genuinely curious.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna gives her a look. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy’s not the only one who struggles with self-compassion and forgiveness,” she says, raising her eyebrows pointedly, and Annabeth flattens her lips. “She knew you’d never be able to stand it, Annabeth. If you ever made him think…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She trails off, leaving space for an infinite number of conclusions to her statement. Annabeth knows, though, that only one possibility fits there perfectly, indisputably.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wouldn’t,” she admits. “I think I’d just—I don’t know. You’re right. I wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna knits her eyebrows and exhales through her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Would you like to—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Annabeth interrupts brusquely. “Sorry,” she says more gently. “But no.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna narrows her eyes and takes a deep breath once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, if you won’t talk, then I will,” she says, picking up her utensils. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She chews her steak with a thoughtful expression, and Annabeth looks side to side, a bit uncomfortable. She is about to open her mouth to speak when Reyna raises her hand and stuffs a forkful of potato into her mouth, then chews some more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When I was seven,” Reyna begins, cutting into her steak, “my sister and I were playing pirates in our backyard. We had a massive orange tree and would climb it and use the oranges as pretend gold and the branches as swords. One day my father came home from work early, in a terrible mood, and tried pulling my sister down by her ankle—he’d told us plenty of times not to waste oranges, but we were kids, so we didn’t listen.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows, not quite sure where Reyna is taking this conversation. It seems incredibly personal. Despite the fact that Reyna is openly telling Annabeth the story, she still feels as though she is eavesdropping on a very private moment in time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway, like I said, I was seven, and scared, and so I did the only thing I really thought might stop him, with the only weapon I had.” Annabeth tries to keep her expression neutral, but she must fail because Reyna looks at her and rolls her eyes. “I didn’t kill him,” she says. “I did blind him in one eye.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a sip of water and rests her chin on her interlocked hands before her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was an accident, and it wasn’t. I did it on purpose, to get him to stop, but I didn’t mean to do permanent damage. It was very hard for me, to move on from that. To accept the fact that I had the ability to do something so awful. To cause harm to someone else, even if it was to protect my sister.” She takes a deep breath and finally meets Annabeth’s eyes. “When I got older, when I was a teenager, after years of dealing with him…I stopped feeling guilty about it. Every time I saw his stupid eyepatch I felt a sick sense of satisfaction. I thought he deserved it, for all that he did to us.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows, and Reyna knits her eyebrows. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then I got older. And I realized I’d never processed a single fucking thing that had ever happened to me, not really. I was operating on extremes—I was either sick with guilt and terrified of who I’d become or I was glad that I’d done it and ready to do it again if I had to. There was no sense of balance for me, there. It was just…polar opposites on a dangerous spectrum. No matter where I may have fallen on it, one thing was absolutely clear to me: I was filled to the brim with just…just so much <em>hate</em>. It was either hate for myself or hate for my dad and the rest of the world and it was so draining, Annabeth. I can’t tell you how tired I was of hating things. I just wanted rest.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What did you do?” Annabeth asks, her voice surprisingly thick, and Reyna raises her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I got a fucking therapist,” she says plainly, and Annabeth grins a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I already have one of those,” she tells Reyna, and Reyna’s face softens. “Got her in August.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It took me a long time. It took me years, actually. I mean—I still go. Forgiving ourselves is an ongoing process. It doesn’t happen overnight. There’s never going to be some eureka moment when everything falls into place and you’re suddenly free of all the burdens you force on yourself. That’s just not real life. It takes time, and it takes work, and that work is so fucking draining, and sometimes it feels impossible. But having support, having the people you love by your side…that certainly makes it a hell of a lot easier.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth tries to wipe at her cheeks inconspicuously and is grateful for the fact that Reyna pretends not to notice. Her speech didn’t exactly make Annabeth feel very hopeful. At least not until the end. <em>The people you love</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>What about those who love you?</em> she thinks. <em>What about those who love you, but you can’t allow yourself to love back?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I never really had that,” Annabeth admits instead of speaking her question out loud, wiping at her face one last time. “That support system. I only ever had Piper. And one of my mentors, but…never anything more than them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well it’s a good thing you have us, now,” she says, so matter-of-factly that Annabeth cannot believe she ever thought herself alone after knowing them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m scared that I might…I don’t want to lose him,” Annabeth whispers. “He’s…I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know how he became so important to me. But I can’t lose him. I just can’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s why you let Clarisse say what she did to you?” Reyna asks, and Annabeth swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I needed to hear it from someone else,” Annabeth confirms. “I knew it. I’ve always known—but I was slipping. I was getting too close. I needed to be reminded of it. Of the truth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And what truth is that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth steels herself and swallows, tries to ignore the aching from her sternum to the hollow of her throat as she prepares to say what she needs to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That I can never be with him the way I really want to be.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She lets the rest of what she wants to say go unspoken. Because she is not even half as good as him. Because she will only ever drag him down. Because, ultimately, he deserves so much better.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And you’re just fine with that?” Reyna asks, her eyebrows knit in frustration. “You think that’s what needs to be done, so you’ll do it? Just like that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You make it sound so easy,” Annabeth says, half-laughing humorlessly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna exhales heavily from her nose, and when Annabeth glances up at her and sees the angry look on her face, she’s irrationally afraid that Reyna might just get up and leave her there. But then Reyna sighs and grabs Annabeth’s hand, squeezing it firmly, just once. Annabeth swallows and squeezes Reyna’s hand in return before her friend takes it back and purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Should we get wine drunk and skip the rest of the workday?” Reyna suggests, cutting off a chunk of her steak. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles a bit despite herself and Reyna grins at her, then places what she’s just cut into Annabeth’s plate.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Try it, it’s fucking phenomenal,” Reyna says, and Annabeth spoons some mashed potatoes onto Reyna’s plate.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“These too, they’re decadent,” Annabeth offers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They spend the rest of the afternoon stealing each other’s food, ordering off of the dessert menu extensively, and blowing off work together. Despite their earlier conversation, Annabeth feels about a thousand tons lighter, as if a terrible burden has been lifted off her shoulders. Now that she has confided in Reyna, has finally addressed what she has been too afraid to process, it all seems much less daunting. Of course, their talk has not truly <em>fixed </em>Annabeth’s problem, as the crushing weight of her choice still bears down on her, more real and insistent than ever. But she knows now that she has people who love her, people to lift her when she is weary, to help her through what must be done. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Annabeth recognizes that for the first time in her life she has a steady, stable support system, a group of people who will not turn their backs on her in her time of need. She has someone to ask for help. She has many people to ask for help. And she realizes slowly as the afternoon passes and she and Reyna share more of themselves with each other that she is no longer ashamed of the idea. </span> <span class="s1">It no longer feels beneath her to turn to those she loves for comfort and care, no longer feels like such a wretched weakness, a source of shame. Perhaps this feeling will stay with her for an afternoon, perhaps she will wake up tomorrow and feel sick at the thought of it, but now, at least, she can take the steps she needs to move forward. Now that she has experienced even this brief moment of release, now that she knows it is possible to grow, she will fight to unlearn the old lessons she was once taught. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna stabs at the last piece of Annabeth’s cheesecake and their forks clash on the plate, the sound of crashing metal ringing out through the nearly quiet dining room. As they struggle and laugh and fight for the last of the dessert, Annabeth recognizes just how content she can be, if only she would allow herself to live within these pockets of joy, no matter how small or fleeting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna manages to grab the last bite, Annabeth smacks her fork out of her hand, and as the cheesecake splatters on the floor and Reyna gasps in outrage, Annabeth throws her head back and laughs wildly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>It’s a good thing you have us now</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Us. She rolls the word around in her head, tries it on for size. She wonders what it might feel like to truly become a part of the group, of the little family her friends have built together. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yes, she decides. It’s a very good thing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knew as soon as he woke up on Sunday morning that something was off. Maybe it had to do with the fact that when he opened his eyes the morning light was dull and dreary, barely there behind the heavy grey cover of the slow-moving clouds. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He might be willing to admit that since meeting Annabeth, he quite enjoys days like this, when the sun hides behind the darkening clouds, the sky prepares itself for a storm, the air crackling with energy and electricity. He might be willing to admit that every raindrop, every angry clap of thunder and startling crack of lightning reminds him fully of the storms that rage in her eyes each and every time she looks at him. He might be willing to admit that today, none of these are welcome. That he hasn’t heard from her since their day at the museum and he is terrified that he might never truly get to see the burst of life and intrigue and anger and determination and joy in her eyes again. That somehow, someway, he has royally fucked up with her, and now she is lost to him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He did his best to push those thoughts back, he really did. He rose and went through his morning routine and FaceTimed Hazel and spoke to her in English in preparation for his initial interview with Nawra today. He went through all the motions, made it to the coffee shop where she and Annabeth typically meet, sat down about half an hour early with a lemon poppyseed scone and a tea, and he did it all before the first drop of rain ever hit the sidewalk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, as she steps into the cafe, shaking out her umbrella and letting her hair out from beneath her hood, her golden curls splaying across her shoulders, he knows immediately that his gut feeling was right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t look him in the eye, not even once, to let him know that she has seen him. And she has seen him—there is no way that she could so pointedly <em>not </em>be looking at him if she did not know exactly where he was. He bites the inside of his cheek and bounces his knee and digs his right thumb into the scar of his left palm and watches her back as she stands in line to order her drink. Seconds feel like minutes and minutes feel like hours as he waits for her to finally turn around, to acknowledge his presence, to recognize that he is <em>here</em>. He is here and he will not be going anywhere and he needs her to understand it above all else.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But maybe she already does. Maybe that is why she is pulling away now, because he made it known, made it extremely obvious how utterly enamored he is with her, how he simply cannot get her off of his mind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head, tries to clear it of those thoughts. His therapist would tell him that he is catastrophizing. There are other rational explanations for her behavior. Maybe she has been busy this past week. Maybe she is stressed about work or something else and was too distracted to look for him when she came in earlier. Maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe. There are thousands of possibilities, none of which have to do with his ever-growing ache for her. He needs, as Piper says, to cool his fucking jets.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After an eternity of waiting Annabeth finally gets her drink and turns to look around the cafe. She spots him, then, and offers him a smile that does not reach her eyes, and the closer she gets to the table, the more his confidence wanes. Maybe he was right the first time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Beth,” he greets gently as she takes the seat adjacent to his at the small four-person table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She drops down her umbrella and focuses on taking off her coat. She is wearing a soft-looking turtleneck, a dark blue that he imagines must compliment her eyes beautifully. He cannot tell—she will not look at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, Percy,” she greets, her voice miles away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finally stops fidgeting and meets his eyes and he knows with absolute certainty—he was right the first time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How are you?” he asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(He can hope, can’t he?)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, crazy busy,” she says, and sips her coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He offers her the scone, and she stiffens and declines.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Had a big breakfast,” she explains, and he swallows and nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Take it. You can have it later,” he says, pushing the bag towards her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She reluctantly agrees and he knits his eyebrows and fiddles with the tag on the teabag string.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Busy with work?” he asks, glancing up at her, and she sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. This project is absolutely killing me. I’ve been working 'til midnight almost every day this week,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(His hopes lift.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “It’s stressful, huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods, picking at the cardboard sleeve on her coffee cup. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Makes me wanna curl up into a ball and decompose on my couch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely and she glances at him and grins. Lightning cracks outside, brightness in the dark, and she startles as thunder follows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t like it?” he asks, and she looks at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thunderstorms?” He nods. “I love it, actually. I just never get used to all the noise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate the wind,” he admits. “It’s scary. Like it’s gonna knock everything down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm,” she hums thoughtfully and meets his eyes in a challenge. “Well, if the wind knocks everything down, I’ll get to rebuild it.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely and she grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Evil,” he says, and her smile broadens.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is my villain origin story.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs and she laughs with him and for a few moments the knot in his stomach loosens and he can breathe a little more easily. Even the darkest skies can be lit up by lightning. That’s the nature of the beast, after all; energy growing, colliding, releasing, the result deadly and mesmerizing and enlivening all at once. Little contradictions in everything. Hope and light, in everything. Even in the dark. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he has a chance to say anything else there is a crashing sound right in front of them and Percy has a sudden irrational thought that their table has been struck by lightning. Instead he finds Nawra standing before them, hands on her hips, a fucking <em>massive</em> binder taking up nearly the entire table in front of them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here’s what’s happening,” she begins in lieu of a greeting. “Due to my…questionable methods of getting you to agree to do the interview, I violated some serious ethical research codes. We need to talk about informed consent.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a deep breath and Percy and Annabeth stare up at her, speechless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—” Annabeth begins, but Nawra continues her speech. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seems as though she’s had it prepared for quite some time. She opens up her binder and starts flipping through the pages as she speaks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So basically it’s my responsibility as the ‘researcher’ or interviewer or whatever the fuck to tell you what you’re getting into. What the study is about, what your participation entails, and what I’ll be doing with the information or data I get from you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She releases the binder ring and pulls out two thick, stapled packets, and Percy’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as she hands one each to him and Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“All of this is the stuff I already sent you, Annabeth, you know, the project plans you looked through, but now that I have the focus and the clear path it’s more specific and detailed. It now also includes the fact that I’m gonna be presenting this to my teachers and it’ll get judged and if it’s good enough it’ll get peer-reviewed and published. And it says you’re allowed to change your mind and pull out of the study and I won’t use anything I gathered from you, blah blah blah. So I need you both to read through that and understand what you’re getting yourselves into and then sign and initial and date it on the last page if you’re comfortable moving forward.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy blinks up at her. No part of him is prepared to read through this 50-page packet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can you—give the important stuff?” he asks her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. You can read, right?” she asks quietly, and Percy chokes out a laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, I can read,” he laughs. “I just—don’t feel like it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gives him a sideways look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bit lazy for an Olympic gold medalist don’t you think?” she says, and his smile drops off his face as Annabeth snorts at them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s a bullet-point summary on the last page where we sign, Percy,” Annabeth tells him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He flips through and finds that yes, there is, and he frowns at Nawra.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You could’ve said so,” he tells her, and she purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a deep breath and reads through the information slowly, does his best to absorb it all. As far as he can tell there’s really nothing new to him here. His mind wanders to his speech therapy session with Piper this past Wednesday, the topic they finally spoke about despite Percy’s fear. She’d called him into her room and they’d started bullshitting and then Piper insisted they get serious and focus and she'd known in an instant that something was wrong because he wouldn’t look her in the eye anymore. He was too afraid she might see the truth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then she asked. She’d asked, and he had to explain it, and he had no idea where to even begin. He didn’t think it was possible to make anyone understand how the mere thought of it still made him sick to his stomach, made his jaw seize up and left a sour taste on the back of his tongue that kept it frozen in place. He couldn’t explain that for weeks, it was the only word in the world he ever thought he’d be able to speak again. That he would be stuck, like a broken record, spitting out the same sound, over and over and over again. That he still refuses to speak the word to this day, terrified that he might become trapped in the endless loop once more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t bring himself to do it. So he adjusted. Rearranged. Just like he always has.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s…a kid,” he began, the same way he had with Grover. “She wants to talk to me. Olympics stuff. Training stuff. Whatever.” Piper nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I, um—I’m afraid to. Because of…reasons.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper knit her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What reasons?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scratched the back of his neck and looked down at the table between them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t say.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d peeked up at her to find her gaping at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So what was the point of you telling me?” she asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He took a deep breath and leaned his head back, gazing up at the ceiling. He’d felt the plastic back of the chair digging into his neck and forced himself to focus on the way it pinched his skin, grounding him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanna tell you,” he said. “Well—I don’t wanna tell you. I have to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why do you have to?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a leading question, and Percy knew it. But he also knew he had to answer her if he was ever going to move past this.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because Grover’s—asshole.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper snorted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What did Grover’s asshole ever do to you?” she asked, and he’d lifted his head to glare at her. She raised her eyebrows in a challenge. “That’s what happens when you leave out your articles, Percy. People can twist your words. They can make it sound like you’ve done things to your friends’ assholes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite how hard he tried not to, Percy had burst out into laughter, dropping his head onto the table. Piper laughed along with him and he shook his head as he sat up properly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate—hate you,” he laughed, and Piper rolled her eyes, grinning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Try the sentence again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d taken a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Grover’s <em>an </em>asshole.” Piper nodded once. “He made me…think. He sucks. I love him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper leaned forward onto the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And what did he make you think about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy swallowed hard, looking at the smooth, dark skin of her hands. Delicate and soft and capable of breaking a man’s nose. He smiled a bit at the memory of the frat boy falling back onto his ass after Piper had decked him, shook his head to rid himself of the thought. He was derailing his own introspection. And then he was suddenly overwhelmed with the notion that he was his own worst enemy, despite always knowing it to be true. It frustrated him, made him angry enough to finally just come out and say it, if only to spite himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s a word. I can’t say it. I’m scared to,” Percy said, staring down at his and Piper’s hands. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It would be stupid of me to ask you what the word is,” Piper began. “So how about you give me a hint.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Swimming.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Another.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Inside.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d looked up at her to find that her face had softened remarkably, that she was sending him one of her professionally empathetic stares, the ones that said she was doing her best to understand, and she was going to be there right next to you. She’d reached out and grabbed his scarred hands in her smooth ones and squeezed his fingers hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to say it,” Piper told him firmly. “At least not yet. It can be a process. We’ll ease you into it. But you don’t have to do whatever you’re not ready for, Perce. Okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded, the tightness pressing down on his sternum waning until he could roll back his shoulders and take a breath deep enough to expand his chest as far as it could possibly go. A burden released, if only for a time. The promise of being understood, linked together with another: she would not be letting him off the hook. She could only be understanding for so long before she would force him to start moving forward. He could deal with that. He could handle baby steps, as long as she would keep holding his hand along the way. She’d squeezed his hands again and their exercises for the rest of the session focused on aquatic vocabulary and he knew that she would never let him falter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, as he feels a sharp kick to his left ankle, he startles in his seat and looks around at Annabeth and Nawra, seeing them as if through a thin layer of fog.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ready to sign, Percy?” Annabeth says, and from the tone of her voice it seems as though this is not the first time she’s asked that question.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods and takes a pen from her, signs and dates and initials, ready for whatever today might bring. He follows Annabeth’s lead and rips off the page he’s just signed, then hands it to Nawra. He frowns as he watches Annabeth shrug on her coat and grab her umbrella.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait—are you leaving?” Percy asks, confused, and Annabeth nods, not meeting his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I promised Piper we’d do family bonding after the crazy week we both had,” she tells him. “Me and Nawra are just gonna meet on Tuesday after work instead.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hopes he doesn’t sound as dejected as he feels. He must, because Annabeth’s eyes snap to his and soften. He looks down at his information packet instead; he hates the pity he sees there, as if she’s worried he won’t be able to handle himself. He would prefer no look at all to what she’s just done.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, Percy, will you be okay?” she asks quietly. “I didn’t think—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He says it more sharply than he intends to, nearly winces at his tone, and when he looks to Annabeth he finds that her eyes are downcast and her lips are pursed tight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry. It’s okay. Really,” he says, more gently, and she lifts her eyes to his and narrows them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright. See you around, then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods and she stands and his eyes stay on her back as she lifts her hood and steps out into the storm outside. Nawra clears her throat and Percy jumps back to the present, stares at her with wide eyes. She looks at him skeptically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you two break up or something?” she asks, and he starts coughing wildly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” he breathes, sipping his tea to soothe his throat. “We never—it’s not—<em>no</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raises her hands in surrender. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, whatever you say,” she sings. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tries his best to glare at her but she is just a child with glasses too big for her face and skin the color of his mother’s and eyes wide as the full moon, bright and round and clear. He sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re not,” he insists, wary of his tone. “It isn’t—appropriate. You’re, like, 10. Let’s just—ask me a question.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grimaces at him in offense, scrunching up her face and leaning back in her chair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How dare you?” she says. “I am 15 and two-thirds.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He covers his face with one hand and tries to quiet his laughter, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please just ask me something,” he begs, amusement seeping into his words, and she sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, alright, hold on a second.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She flips through her binder and pouts as she stops on a page, runs her hand down it as if it causes her great pain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I had to scrap all the stuff I got from Annabeth’s first three interviews because of the stupid IRB,” she complains, and he knits his eyebrows. “Three weeks of work down the drain. All because I’m a dumb stupid liar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She slams her head down onto her arms suddenly, startling Percy a bit, and he has no idea what he can say to make her feel better. He’s not very good with words, after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m—sorry,” he tries, then winces at himself, and she groans mournfully.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The people at the tables around then stare and Percy does his best to suppress his laughter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, it’s—it’s okay. You can get new stuff. Better stuff,” he says, and she lifts her head to rest her chin on her arms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think so?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods encouragingly, and she sighs heavily and slumps back into her seat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess.” She pauses. “You’re not very good at this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tries to hide his smile behind his cup of tea, but she sees it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re always laughing at my pain,” she continues, and he lets out a small laugh. “See? Like that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs a bit more and shakes his head, tries to stop himself, but he has no control over it anymore. It’s not that funny, not really, but she reminds him so much of his mother that it’s difficult to contain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You remind me of my mom,” he tells her, and she brightens at that, sitting up straighter as she smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really?” she asks, and he nods. “What’s she like?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The best person in the world.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, all Arab boys think their mom is the best person in the world. I want details, give me a character study.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s…the best.” Nawra gives him a blank look and he takes a deep breath. “She’s selfish—selfless. Selfless. And generous. And warm. And she…she did everything. My whole life, it was—just her. She did it all by herself. And she gave up a lot. She did things…she gave up a lot. Because of me.” He swallows and fiddles with his cup. “She’s the strongest person I know. She’s so strong. I wish she never had to be.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks up at Nawra to find her pouting, her eyes wide and sad.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I get that,” she says, her voice a bit thick. “I wish my mom didn’t have to be strong, either. She does everything for us. She came here all alone with two kids and some random Egyptian family’s name written down on a piece of paper. They gave her a room to live in and she learned English and took my brothers to work with her and did everything for them until my dad could come and meet her. And it was <em>her </em>idea, to start the business. It was <em>her</em> connections, <em>her</em> knowledge of how everything worked, that made it all happen. She’s like a superhero, you know? She hasn’t had a day off since before she ever came here. I wish she didn’t have to be the way she is. I wish it’d been easier for her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy finds that his vision has gone blurry and he wipes at his eyes as Nawra rubs hers beneath her glasses.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They sacrificed everything for us,” she half-whispers, then swipes at her cheek. “I don’t think I deserve any of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy nods and wipes at the corners of his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me either,” he admits. “I do everything I can. To repay her. It’s never enough.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We could give them the world and it would never add up to everything they’ve done for us,” she says, and he nods in agreement.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think the important part—we have to just try. We have to help them. However we can. We have to show up. It’s the only way—to even get close.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra’s lower lip trembles and her face scrunches up as her shoulders start to shake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m such a shitty daughter,” she cries, covering her face. “I love her so much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy wishes he could console her in some way but he is in much the same state as her, nodding along with what she’s saying. He wipes his cheeks and sniffles and they sit together, two people whose mothers are the best human beings on Earth, and Percy recognizes that he very much trusts the young girl sitting before him, more so than ever before.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks about his mother, stable and steady and always there for him. His constant, his motivation, the one person in the world who has never disappointed him. Regret hangs heavy on his shoulders each and every day, guilt and shame for all of his anger in the face of her unwavering love. She deserved better than him—she still does. But he tries to be better for her. He tries with everything in him to right his past wrongs, to make up for all that he has put her through. He knows it will never be enough. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Some things cannot be erased or forgotten or entirely repaired; some things will always remain. But to give up hope in the face of struggle, to revoke light in the shadow of darkness—that is no solution. Life is not about despairing our shortcomings, Percy knows. It’s about recognizing them, and working to become better, every fucking day. He <em>must </em>try. It’s all there is to do. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remembers being 15 and hating himself and loving his mother and doing everything in his power, training his every waking moment, to be better for her. As if he could somehow make up for all the years she spent under the thumb of an evil piece of shit for Percy’s sake. As if it could somehow make up for the fact that it was Percy’s fault. That it was him, period. She deserved better.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” he tells Nawra, wiping at his face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s reminding himself just as much as he's trying to get her to understand. He knows next to nothing about the child sitting across from him but he is certain that she does not deserve to carry this burden. He needs to make her understand what it means to move forward. What it means to grow and heal and learn better. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We just have to try,” he tells her. “We can’t stop trying. It’s how—it’s the only way. We can’t just let it—make us feel like shit. We have to try to be better. They’re too good to give up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods and takes a napkin out of the holder on the corner of the table, then blows her nose loudly. Percy follows suit and they sit across from each other, tear-streaked faces and sad stares. He hopes she takes what he’s said to heart, but it’s not quite his place to ask.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does your mom—make <em>khubz</em>?” he asks her after they are quiet for some time, and her face lights up once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And it’s <em>fucking phenomenal,</em>” she exclaims, smacking her palm on the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Next time I’ll bring my mom’s. You bring your mom’s. Taste test,” he suggests, and she raises her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re going down, bitch,” she says in a threatening tone, and he smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell it to your teachers—little girl.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her jaw drops in shock and he grins as she laughs a bit, probably in surprise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re spunky,” she tells him, and he nearly spits out his tea. “I think this whole project thing is gonna work out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They look at each other, eyes wide as they realize how much time they have wasted, and she covers her mouth with her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a <em>terrible </em>interviewee! Making a child cry about her mother! Come on, back to work. God, you’re the worst,” she exclaims, flipping through her pages frantically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—asked!” he defends, and she wrinkles her nose distastefully.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really? You’re gonna blame the 15 year-old with ADHD? This isn’t a good look for you, old man,” she says, and his jaw drops in offense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not—old!” he defends, and she raises her eyebrows and looks down at her notes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever you say, <em>hajji</em>,” she mutters, and he laughs in disbelief.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just—ask your dumb questions,” he demands. “I’m sick of this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She frowns at him, and her eyes get so big they nearly swallow her face whole. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think this is dumb?” she asks quietly, and he straightens, shakes his head quickly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No—no, no, I promise—I—no. It’s great. Amazing. Very cool.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smirks triumphantly and he realizes he has been tricked by the little demon across from him. He is about to forget himself and flip off an actual child, but thankfully she rattles off her first question before he gets the chance. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s easier, now that they have taken the time to become better acquainted with each other. Whatever doubts or fears Percy had about speaking with her, about misunderstandings or halting explanations or talking nonstop for as long as they need to have been quelled in the wake of their crying session. There is a foundation that they have built here together, in the understanding that follows the meeting of children whose mothers have given all of themselves to the ones they love. It is a connection made swiftly and kept sturdy by the exchange of stories about what it was like for them, what it meant for them to leave everything behind, to try to build a better life. Harsh wounds faded to jagged scars, the indelible marks made by struggle and memories of home healed partially by the hope that one day this new place might make an even better one for those they love most. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It all boils down to that love. At the end of the day, the one indisputable fact Percy knows to be true above all else is that everything will come back to family, to the things you are willing to do for the people you love, the sacrifices you are willing to make. He knows, too, that when it comes to his loved ones, those sacrifices do not feel so great, that they become easier to bear. Sally, Hazel, Nico, Piper, Grover—he would give the world a thousand times over for each and every one of them. There is no part of him that could ever deny them, could ever choose anything or anyone else. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That truth flows over him in a steady wave, the gentle motion of a tender tide that washes away the nagging ache in his chest. There is love and there is nothing else in the world that will ever matter more than love, not guilt or shame or anger or fear. It is all dulled and tamed and eased by the knowledge that no matter what, he will be loved, entirely and unconditionally. Whether or not he thinks he deserves it is irrelevant; he has it, from the best of the best, the only people in the world who will ever matter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is loved. He repeats it like a mantra in his head, <em>it's love it's love it's love it's love</em>. He does not know when he lost sight of that fact, but he is certain he will never let it escape him again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From now on, he decides, this is how he will try.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>EDIT: I've found that lately I've been struggling with the narrative voice in this story. I'm sorry if this chapter seems a bit out of line with the rest of the story or too different from the others in any way (or maybe it's exactly the same and the writer's block is making me second-guess myself). Usually I don't really talk about the writing process or whatever except to give updates about how long the wait might be for the next chapter but here I am!! Over-thinking!! Anyway, I apologize for maybe the new style/tone/copious amounts of prose/my inability to properly describe settings and I hope I'll be able to find my stride again in the coming chapters. As always, thank you so much for reading, I appreciate every last one of you so much, thank you thank you!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Recap of last chapter's section if you skipped: Clarisse has a talk with Annabeth in which she basically says if you are not all about it with Percy then gtfo, it very much messes with Annabeth’s head and she decides to herself that Clarisse is right so she backs off with Percy (she backs off for additional reasons unbeknownst to her conscious mind), Annabeth and Reyna bond over a lunch in which Reyna apologizes on Clarisse’s behalf, and Annabeth learns the importance of having love and support from your friends (me? constantly repeating the critical importance of friendship and platonic love? ALWAYS)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Quite a lot of things to note this time around:<br/>-There is like…so much profanity in this chapter. I’m so sorry, I have no excuse except for the fact that I have been censoring myself in real life seeing as I live with small children, so…here we are. I did try to cut it down some though, and I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. Beware the fuck-word.<br/>-*Trigger warning*: there is a part of a section that describes a near-panic attack. It doesn't happen until the very end of the fourth section, so if you'd like to read most of it without running into that bit, you can stop at the point where you see this *** a few lines ahead of where it begins. If you'd like to skip the section altogether, it's marked with this section break *** ~ ~ ~ ***. It's going to be the last section of this chapter, Percy's second section. Please don't worry at all about skipping over, I'll recap everything in the next chapter's summary so I promise you won't miss anything important!<br/>-Chapter discusses systemic and individual racism, specifically in regards to higher education<br/>-Chapter discusses emotionally distant/neglectful parental figures<br/>-There is a bit in here that might be read as alcohol dependency if you squint really hard but that’s not what is happening! However if that is in any way triggering to you I recommend you skip the last part of Annabeth’s first section, starting with when she cries (she’s always crying and I love her for it)<br/>-I would like to thank Kings of Leon for dropping 100,000 People and inspiring all of the angst in this chapter (not necessarily an angsty song but it rips me to shreds every time). You can give it a listen if you'd like to learn what makes me Tick (hint: love and loss and philosophizing on the profound effect loving and being loved by others has on a person)<br/>I would also like to dedicate this chapter to Katie. Thank you for all your advice (the only reason this chapter is being posted right now) and all your kind words on the chapters so far, it means the world. Thank you thank you thank you!!<br/>As always, thank you all so much for reading, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth cannot be trusted with her thoughts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She has spent the past two weeks moping and ruminating and driving herself mad with guilt and anxiety for what she’s doing to Percy, on top of all the other shit she has to worry about for work. She has been running herself ragged, for no good reason. Nothing productive can come of simply <em>thinking</em>—some action must be taken, anything to make a move towards progress and sanity and goddamn peace of mind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which is why she is working incredibly hard to keep her head empty of any truly significant thoughts. So hard, in fact, that—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“HA, BITCH!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck you, Valdez, you caught me off-guard!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, that’s how you fuckin’ win, you dweeb.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sore loser.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Skinny virgin.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“White Devil.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth breaks and laughs at that as Leo grins wildly, shuffling the ever-growing stack of cards in his hands. She is off her game, she knows, as her own pile is dwindling, and she has missed the last two jacks that have been thrown down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seems as though her plan for ridding her mind of any and all thoughts of Percy includes calling Leo Valdez on a Friday night to discuss the merits of different dome structures and play slapjack. It’s not her fault that he’s brought up Percy more times than she can count in the last ten minutes. Leo obviously knows what he’s doing, derailing the conversation and throwing her off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes out her arms and rolls her shoulders back, takes a sip of her wine.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, I’m ready, let’s go,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They put their cards down quickly for what seems like forever until Annabeth catches the jack Leo puts down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eat shit, little bitch,” she says, even though she’s only really gained about 20 cards and he has close to 80.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, I did not come here to be verbally abused,” he responds as she places down her first card.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You knew what you were walking into, don’t victimize yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why’d you even call me anyway? Not that I’m not enjoying our quality time—” Annabeth rolls her eyes, “—it just seems like you’re much closer with others rather than me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perhaps I missed your company.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perhaps you and Percy are in a weird place.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sets down a jack and misses it and Leo grins like a fiend as he collects his cards.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will you shut the fuck up?” she says. “You’re trying to distract me on purpose.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well it’s not my fault it’s working.” He pauses. “Why is it working? Are you guys okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re—there’s no <em>you guys </em>it’s just—ugh. Piper’s on a date with this girl from the gym, Reyna and Clarisse live in <em>Brooklyn,</em> Hazel is amazing company but she’s in the middle of exams, and Percy…I’m trying to give him some space.” She pauses. “Plus, I didn’t exactly run through a list in my head and find you at the bottom. I thought to call you first.” He gives her a look. “Okay, first after Piper until I remembered she had a date.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I must say I’m flattered,” he says, setting down his first card. “But you avoided my question. What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing is wrong,” she lies. “I told you, I’m just trying to give him space.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did he ask for space?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips and puts down a card and he takes her silence as answer enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll let you in on a little secret about our dear friend Perseus,” Leo begins, and Annabeth’s eyes widen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“His name is <em>Perseus</em>? Like the Greek hero Perseus?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, what’d you think it was? Percival? Persephone? Per—I can’t think of anymore.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just thought it was Percy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, it is just Percy now. Don’t tell him I told you, he’ll murder me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I’m for sure gonna tell him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When? While you’re still busy avoiding him or perhaps after?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She glares at him and he shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway, as I was saying about our dear friend Perseus,” Leo begins, “if he doesn’t ask for space that likely means he doesn’t want it. Unless you want space. Then by all means take your space. But don’t put that on <em>him</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe he doesn’t know what’s best for him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leo grimaces distastefully.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please. That’s so—you can’t seriously believe that.” Annabeth looks down guiltily at the cards in her hands. “Do you know what Percy hates, more than anything in the entire world? His number one pet peeve?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Imitation banana flavoring.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No—well, yes, actually, but—” He takes a deep breath. “You’re almost as good at deflecting as I am. I must say I’m impressed. If I wasn’t so annoyingly persistent you’d have gotten out of this conversation a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tragically, you <em>are</em> annoyingly persistent.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think you mean thankfully, but I digress.” He sighs. “Percy hates it when people make decisions for him because they think they know what’s best for him. He’s always hated it, even before his accident, but even more so after. And can you blame him? He literally had to rely on other people for almost everything, couldn’t take care of himself fully for over a year. He had very little control over the things in his life. But the only things he could control were his decisions, his behavior. So to have someone take that away from him, too—it’s a really sore spot for him, Annabeth. It sends him into a blind fucking rage and then a pit of guilt and despair afterward because he feels like he doesn’t deserve to be angry or he shouldn’t feel angry just because people love him. Like, how fucked up is that? Feeling so ashamed of yourself any time you feel an emotion that’s a totally valid response to being patronized. He lives his life in a constant state of regret. There’s not much you or I or anyone can say to change that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t—” she clears her throat, “I didn’t know that. That sounds miserable.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is. So do us all a favor and don’t take his choice away from him, alright? It’s fucked up.” Annabeth nods and he pauses. “Unless of course, it’s <em>you</em> who needs the space. In which case do what you have to do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She inhales heavily through her nose and downs her glass of wine.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know I invited you over here because you were the least likely person to talk to me about Percival,” she says, and he grins. “And yet here you are, ruining my night.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If it makes you feel any better, you are not the first woman I’ve disappointed this month,” he says, sending her a wink, and she grimaces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Absolutely vile, you wretched beast of a man. First Percy and now this. When will it end?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leo rolls his eyes and grabs the wine bottle from next to them before Annabeth can get it, and she pouts at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Boohoo, bitch, you have friends who care about your happiness,” he says. “Your life is so hard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins widely and Leo smirks at her as he refills his own glass and shoves the bottle back at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you ever been in love, Leo?” she asks quietly as she empties the bottle into her cup.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He snorts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been in so much unrequited love you wouldn’t believe it,” he responds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I mean—have you ever been in love with someone who loved you, too and like—you were happy. Even if it was short.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs heavily and leans back on his hands from his spot on the floor, tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have been,” he said. “We were both kind of—like, we were used to being other people’s second choices, I guess. Or not choices at all. And we kind of went for each other because nobody else had ever chosen us first, you know? But we had our own individual issues to work through and it got in the way of us growing and maturing and—yeah. It ran its course and we realized we both had shit to sort through and we shouldn’t have depended on each other for it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a deep breath and Annabeth frowns sadly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” she tells him, and he shrugs and looks at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was better that way,” he says. “Sometimes people have to grow separately from each other, better themselves before they can make it work. I’m grateful for it regardless. It taught me a lot about myself. I was really insecure and I covered it up by being a cocky douchebag who everybody hated. I never truly let anyone in, unless they literally forced their way through, which they never bothered doing because I was so goddamn insufferable. Like, dick jokes 24/7 insufferable.” Annabeth scrunches up her nose and Leo nods. “Yeah. The only person who never really gave up on me was Piper, because she always just…understood, I guess, you know? She’s good with all that empathy shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth snorts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She is the reigning queen of love and support.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And she saved my life because of it. She stayed, so Jason and Percy stayed, and now I have all these people who I love to death and who love me, too. The real me, not my douchebag persona. And it’s fuckin’ rad, man. I have so much love in my life, and I’m not afraid of it anymore. I know I’ll never be left behind by these people, because they’re the best around, and they love me. So, yeah, I’d rather be here and single now than in that relationship like the asshole I was before, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth cannot deny that she is impressed. She’d never have known it just looking at him, that sly smirk constantly on his face, his wild curls always falling in his eyes, his goddamn tinkering inventions he puts together and takes apart in minutes, but Leo is an incredibly emotionally mature guy. Sure, he’s an idiot most of the time, but Annabeth can see the result of all his hard work before her now—how he carries himself with confidence, how he speaks so seriously when he needs to, how he looks out for his friends. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wonders how long it took him to get where he is now. She wonders if she’ll ever get there, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s really beautiful,” Annabeth says, shocked at how thick her voice is. She looks down at her glass, surprised that her vision has become blurry. “Fuck, that’s a beautiful thing. I’m so—so happy for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, shit, Piper told me you’re a sad drunk.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not sad!” she exclaims, wiping at her eyes furiously. “I’m overwhelmed. I’m just—I’m crying, you fucker. Because that’s such a nice, beautiful story, like…I’m feeling a lot, okay? I’m so happy for you, and I mean it, and I think you deserve it, and I just—I just—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She fully bursts into tears, then, sobbing like a child. She briefly catches the alarmed look on Leo’s face right before she covers her own with her hands, tears running down her wrists and beneath her sleeves. She <em>hates </em>it when that happens, and it only makes her breakdown worse, which makes the discomfort worse, and she is trapped in a cycle of wet sleeves and snot and tears.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh shit, oh fuck, I’m not good with crying people,” Leo mutters, and she hears him stand and feels him sit next to her. “I’m sorry I made you cry. You’re right, it’s a beautiful, inspiring story, I’m fucking incredible, I really am.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up!” she cries. “You are incredible! Don’t make a joke of it!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not—well, okay, I was, but like, that’s kind of my brand so—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your brand is being a dumb genius rocket scientist,” Annabeth says, distracted enough to uncover her tear-soaked face and look at him plainly. “Obviously.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grimaces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ew, no way. That’s my job title. My brand is the dumb genius who hides his trauma behind his evolved humor.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought you moved past that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We all have our coping mechanisms, Annabeth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are mine?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Getting drunk with your genius friends and crying at their sob stories?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, God, that’s actually—I’ve done that a <em>lot</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leo spreads his hands as if to say, <em>well there you have it</em> and she starts laughing a bit harder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, God. I just—I get drunk and cry. Oh, no.” She laughs even harder, then. “Is that my brand? Sad drunken bitch?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leo grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nah, your brand is hot intimidating nerd.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs some more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think I’m hot?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Very much so, yes. But alas, you are not my type.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who’s your type?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“People who identify as male.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” She sighs. “People who identify as male are currently making my life very difficult.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think there is one single person who does not identify as male making your life very difficult right now.” She knits her eyebrows and sends him a confused look. “Her name is Annabeth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh!” she groans and shoves him over as he laughs wildly. “You are no Dr. Phil.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, and thank fuck for that. I could never pull off a mustache like that man does.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They spend the rest of their night getting drunker and drawing Leo a Dr. Phil mustache. By the end of the night, it is thick and glorious and he looks absolutely awful.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Obviously Annabeth takes as many photos as humanly possible. Obviously they get sent in the group chat with absolutely zero context. Obviously Annabeth ignores all the replies and promptly passes out on one couch while Leo snores on the one across from her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If she’s failed on all other fronts, she thinks, half-drifting out of consciousness, at least she can say she succeeded in solidifying her bond with the beautiful idiot knocked out on her couch. She’ll take that as a win any day.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s mind has been in a fog all week. He’s been distracted, exhausted and an absolute nightmare to talk to, because he keeps dropping words out of his sentences and stuttering and overall sucking at the whole language thing. He can’t help it if every time he opens his mouth to speak his mind wanders to the only person in the world he wishes he could be talking to instead. It’s not <em>his </em>fault that Annabeth won’t talk to him. He has no control over her actions.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he does have control over his. And he can easily pick up his phone and call her and tell her everything that is on his mind, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Because there is a reason she hasn’t called, isn’t there? There’s a reason she has so pointedly been avoiding him, whether it’s scheduling separate interviews with Nawra or hanging out with Leo instead of him or sending an insincere “that’s great!” after he sent her a voice note about that nightmare of a movie she kept hounding him to watch that he ended up really enjoying despite not understanding most of it. He just doesn’t know what that reason is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe he scared her off, he thinks, finally making it to his subway stop after an especially long commute home. Maybe he was too forward with her after their day at the museum. Maybe he made her uncomfortable, getting in her space the way he did, without even realizing it. Because he hadn’t realized it. He was just always so drawn to her that it made sense to share body heat and elbow room and all that charged eye contact. Fuck’s sake, the eye contact. It set fire to every inch of him every goddamn time she looked at him, and now she won’t even call him on the phone, and she probably won’t bother thinking about him, either.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s fucking miserable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He decides it the second he makes it into his apartment and kicks off his shoes, shoves his coat on the rack next to Hazel’s. She is in here somewhere, and he’s miserable, and he needs comforting immediately, so he heads to his bedroom to find her and complain and let her play with his hair. He is going to be a whiny bitch and there is nothing she can do to stop him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then he makes it to his room and finds her curled up on his bed, sobbing. She has her arms wrapped around her stomach as if she’s trying to hold herself together, and everything in Percy’s chest crumbles into ash as he watches the way she seems to be falling apart before him. He doesn’t want to startle her, but his speech is shit, and he promised his mother he wouldn’t speak Arabic for five days straight. He cannot break that promise now, on day five. He decides instead to knock on the door and she turns to see him then buries her face in his pillow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She mumbles something into it but he can’t make it out because of how muffled it is, so he sits at the end of the bed and taps her ankle three times. She turns her head only enough to speak into the open air. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice hoarse and nasally. “I didn’t know—where else to go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hiccups and sobs once more, shoves her face back into the pillow, her entire body shaking. Percy moves beside her and wraps her up in his arms, hugs her tightly, over her own arms, double the pressure. He doesn’t say anything and neither does she—he just holds her, tries to ground her the way she so often does for him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once she’s stopped sobbing and is reduced to light sniffles he nudges her shoulder with his chin and she hides her face in his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t wanna talk about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nudges her again. And again. And again, until she sniffles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ll be upset with me,” she says, her voice high-pitched, close to cracking. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tuts his tongue. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You will. You’ll be disappointed. I’m disappointed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulls back from her and forces her to hold his gaze, gives her a look that says <em>what the hell is wrong with you</em>. As if he could ever be disappointed in her. She could kill him and his ghost would still love her to the ends of the earth, worship the ground she walks on. She knits her eyebrows as her eyes well up with tears. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m doing terribly in school,” she admits. “I’m—I’m failing two classes. Oh God, Percy, I’m never gonna make it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She starts sobbing again, so he pulls her back into his chest, lets her cry it out. He is shocked at her admission, had no idea she was even struggling in school to begin with. He tries to wrack his brain for something to say, anything at all, but he comes up short—what could he possibly say to make her feel better? Where are the solutions?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He kisses the top of her head and rubs her back soothingly, does his best to just be there for her. He knows better than anyone the turmoil and overwhelming stress that comes with realizing that all the work you have been putting in has been for naught—he’s failed more classes than he can count. Hazel has always been intrinsically more intelligent than anyone he knows—she never studied a day in her life, not until college at least, but even then she graduated with a near 4.0. She’s in vet school, for fuck’s sake; as far as Percy is concerned, she’s a certifiable genius. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But here she is, and she is struggling, and she thinks—oh God, she thinks he’s disappointed in her. He needs to make it incredibly clear to her that he is not, before she spirals any further. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nudges her again and she sniffles and shakes her head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” he says quietly. “Eyes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head again, covering the exposed side of her face with her hand, and he squeezes her wrist firmly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please, Hazy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She lets him move her hand away and pulls back to look at him, so he holds his eyes with hers, looks at her incredibly seriously. He leans his forehead against hers, presses them together hard, and she heaves out a breath—an I love you that means <em>I’m here, I’m not giving up on you, I’m so incredibly proud of you</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy I—I’m so sorry,” she cries. “I failed you. I’m such—such a—a piece of shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head against hers and wipes at her face for her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sh,” he says. “Sh. Three times.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He taps her right wrist three times, then her left, then pulls back and taps her forehead. She breathes deeply and does it back to him, and he holds her arms. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—you didn’t—didn’t—fail. Not me. No one. I love you. Nine times.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her lower lip trembles and he nods to emphasize his point, wipes at her cheeks again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel so stupid,” she whispers as more tears fall. “I’ve never felt so stupid. I’m like—I’m so fucking dumb. I’m failing and—and I don’t know what to do. I study so much and—I go to office hours and—” her voice starts to crack as the pitch rises, and she’s nearly squeaking, “—I have all these—resources but I’m still—still—I’m failing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She starts crying again, shaking her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know what—what to do. E-every time I try to talk—talk to my advisors they fucking—they <em>suck</em>. They keep telling me about these amazing people who’ve gotten through it. These Black women who have failed and pushed through and graduated fucking valedictorian. Incredible, unbelievable people. But I’m—I’m just not, Percy. I’m not that person. I’m just average. And it’s like—it’s like I’m not worthy unless I’m some fucking superhero. Unless I’m extraordinary. I’m either the—the best of the best or I’m n-nothing. How could I ever win a losing game, you know?” More tears flow and her face scrunches up the way it does right when she’s about to let out a cry so high pitched it hurts his ears, but he lets her, and he barely cringes. “And it’s so fucking racist, like—I’m not failing because I’m Black. I’m failing because I’m stupid!” she squeaks and bursts into a new round of sobs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He holds her again, tries to calm her down, but she is far past it. He fears that the only thing that will stop her now is falling asleep from the exhaustion of the emotional toll this takes on her body. He wishes he could say everything he is thinking, could tell her what he really wants to say: fuck them all. Fuck every single person who ever convinced her she needed to become the valedictorian, the king of the hill, whatever the fuck else. Fuck every single person who could only ever recognize her value in terms of her achievement. Who only believe she is worthy based on whether or not she is outstanding, whether she meets their impossible standards. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could write fucking novels about the injustice of it, of the way she has been cast aside for the mere fact that she is Black and she is a woman and she is a Black woman struggling in a field dominated by white assholes, by those who made her entrance into the field impossible to begin with. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck the gatekeepers, he thinks. Fuck every last one of them, and fuck the ones who, instead of giving her what she needs, tangible help, can only offer her stories of those who were so neglected that they had to sacrifice everything to make it to the top. And who were only ever recognized because of that sacrifice, because of the position they gained. They had to work infinitely harder than everyone else, and instead of recognizing how fucked up it was that they struggled so hard and <em>fixing </em>it, the very people who put those barriers in place to begin with decided that singing their praise was enough. As if their meaningless fucking commendation could fix an education system so broken. Fuck that. Fuck them all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck them,” Percy says, the anger in his stomach and chest rising of its own accord. “Fuck them,” he says again, and she pulls back to look at him, hiccuping. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who?” she asks, her confusion winning over her despair, and he widens his eyes, shakes her shoulders. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Them.</em> THEM. <em>Fuck them</em>. FUCK THEM. THEY FUCKING—SUCK. THEY SUCK! FUCK THEM!” he shouts, and she realizes what he means. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face hardens, the same determination he saw upon it when she looked at him in the mirror with her new braids. As if she was ready for a battle she had no choice but to fight. It breaks his goddamn heart.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck them,” she agrees, nodding. “Fuck them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck them!” he shouts. “Louder. Fuck them!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck them!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck them!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“FUCK! THEM! FUCK THEM!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“FUCK THEM!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“FUCK THEM! <em>Fuck them</em>, and <em>fuck this</em>! FUCK THIS! FUCK EVERYONE!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She screams until her voice nearly gives out, then screams some more, then punches the bed hard, hard enough for Percy to think that despite the cushion she might have hurt herself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck them. I’m not doing this. I am not doing this. Fuck them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stands and starts pacing, then, hands on her hips, and he knits his eyebrows as he watches her. Her jaw is set and her eyes are narrowed and there are tears still dripping down her face from earlier and she seems to be thinking intensely about something, but what it is, Percy has no idea. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck this,” she says, stopping to face him. “I don’t care anymore. I’m failing. So fucking what? It’s only October, I have two months to bring up my grades and if I don’t get a 4.0, so fucking what? Cs get degrees.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cs get degrees,” he echoes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And I don’t need a fucking 4.0. For what? So my advisor can turn me into a story to tell another Black girl like me and brag about how much I’ve overcome when they haven’t done <em>shit </em>for me? No. No. Fuck that. Fuck <em>that</em>. I’m not disappointing anyone but the people that want to commodify my struggles. Fuck it. I’m going to do my best, I’m going to get a tutor, I’m going to fucking shove my hand up a cow’s ass if that’s what it takes—I’m doing this. And I’m doing it for me and only me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at him, then, and he smiles widely and nods once. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck ’em,” he says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck ’em,” she repeats. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a deep breath, and the tears spring to her eyes faster than he can blink. Her lower lip trembles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m just—I thought—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She swallows and he stands and wraps her up in his arms once more, squeezes her tightly enough to let her know that she will not have to hold herself together any longer; he will do it for her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” he mutters into her hair. “Cry. I’m—here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She does, and he is, and eventually she rubs her snot-ridden nose all over the front of his shirt. He is too concerned with her emotional state to give a shit about his stupid clothes. He uses his sleeve to wipe away the last of her tears.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” she says, and he wipes her nose with the hem of his shirt. “Gross, Percy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shrugs, and she buries her face in his chest once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we eat ice cream until we fall asleep?” she mumbles into his sweater.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods, already pulling back and grabbing her hand to pull her towards the kitchen. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ice cream bed,” he says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In bed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In bed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ice cream in bed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I said it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You just said ‘ice cream bed.’ As in, a bed made of ice cream. Or perhaps a bed built in the shape of an ice cream cone. Or—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stops her at the freezer to give her a blank look. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ice cream. Bed. Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles widely and throws her arms around him, buries her face in his chest. He wraps his arms around her and hugs her firmly, tries to meld them together so that he might be able to take the burden off her shoulders and onto his. She sighs contentedly as he kisses the top of her head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you, Ugly,” she says, and he bops the top of her head with his nose three times. “Words are words today, huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh,” he agrees quietly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s okay. We have ice cream and a big comfy bed that’s <em>not</em> made of ice cream, and we have nothing to do tomorrow morning. Let’s eat ’til we throw up or pass out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They do exactly that, once Percy changes out of his ruined sweater and into his more comfortable pajamas. Hazel had stolen his favorite sweats when she arrived home before him despite having an entire drawer and part of his closet full of her own clothes, but he can’t find it in him to bicker with her about it, especially after the day she has had. They cozy up in bed next to each other and watch cartoons on his laptop and eat ice cream despite the freezing weather outside and for those few moments, none of their problems really matter anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They are halfway through an absolute fever dream of an old Spongebob episode when Hazel lifts her head from his chest to look up at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We didn’t do Three Good Things,” she tells him, and his eyebrows shoot to his forehead in surprise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I-I thought—you—huh.” He purses his lips. “We—forgot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We never forget.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They pause their show and look at each other, concerned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you okay?” they ask each other at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy feels like his question is stupid considering Hazel has just finished sobbing for hours, but she shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t think I was <em>that </em>bad,” she mutters. “Guess I was pretty distracted. What’s your excuse?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You,” he says by way of explanation, and she rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can’t blame me for your negligence. You were supposed to use Three Good Things to make me feel better!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But—but—but—ice cream! Bed! Ice cream bed!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She narrows her eyes at him and pulls away from him completely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re upset about something,” she says, looking over his face. “Spill it, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not,” he tries to lie, and she glares at him. He sighs heavily. “It—it’s dumb.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not dumb. Just tell me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He purses his lips and stabs at the ice cream with his spoon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—sh-she won’t—talk. To me,” he mutters, and he glances at Hazel to find her frowning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why not?” He shrugs. “Well, she’s probably just super busy. Remember she has that huge project she’s working on. I’m sure it’s that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe,” he says half-heartedly, and she tilts his chin up and forces him to look at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She holds his eyes with hers and he sees the determination there, her relentless and incessant need to let him know just how incredible he is, to always show him how much she loves him, to let him know she is there for him. He sees it before she even says it, but she says it anyway, and he’s surprised by how much the words affect him. The knot growing in his stomach ceases its course for a few moments and he swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ice cream,” he says, and she nods along. “You.” She smiles widely at that, and he grins a bit. “Good hands.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Very strong today, I will say,” she remarks, and he nudges her. “Okay, um…ice cream.” He rolls his eyes. “You.” He rolls them again, and she whacks him. “Hey! No making fun of my three things!” He raises his arms in surrender. “Oh, I had the most delicious hot chocolate today and it was free because the barista told me they’d been watching me study for hours and felt bad. Isn’t that sweet?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises his eyebrows suggestively.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up. It wasn’t like that.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was definitely like that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, not everything is about attraction, okay? Even though I’m stunning and gorgeous and disgustingly cute and anyone would be lucky to have me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmhmm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But that’s not what it was. Even if they were very pretty. And very tall. A little baby-faced, though, so I couldn’t tell how old they were. Also on the chubby side which you know I appreciate, but—they were just being nice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off, Jackson, you’re in love with a white girl.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gasps in offense and she cackles wildly, falling over onto her side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You promised your mother Arab babies and look at you now. Pining after a damn WASP.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shoves her face away from his and throws the blanket off of him to storm off dramatically, but she grabs him back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, please,” she says. “I’m fragile and I need to be cuddled.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“C-cuddle yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Scandalous.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grimaces and she grins and whacks him on the forehead with her sticky spoon, so he steals the tub of ice cream away from her as retribution. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She steals it back five seconds later, but he doesn’t fight her on it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks about his three good things, remembers why they started it, how much it always helped. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can’t say you’ve had a bad day if you can list three good things that happened,” Marie had told them after settling them in with a snack. “I haven’t had a bad day in 10 years.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d winked and they’d grinned and immediately started rattling off all the good things that happened that day. Hazel found a penny right-side up. Percy caught a butterfly out in the park. Hazel got to pet three fluffy dogs, Percy got to <em>play </em>with them, Hazel ate a really good sandwich for lunch, Percy’s mom packed him her homemade chocolate chip cookies, and on and on and on until they realized just how much they had to be grateful for.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And they’ve done it every day since. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he runs through it again. Ice cream. Hazel. Good hands. Good legs, he adds. Plus Jackie breached again, this time for real. Flo’s prosthetics came in and she’s been practicing on them ever since. Grover and Percy made real headway with their project. He made himself the best tea with lemon and honey he’s had in a while. Piper called him during his lunch break and raved about the new girl she's dating. Nico FaceTimed Percy on his train ride home and harassed him into walking him through Sally’s <em>kifteh</em> recipe. He was safe and warm in his bed watching one of his favorite shows with one of his favorite people in the world. Ice cream and Hazel and good hands and a phone that is not silent with the lack of one particular individual, but inundated with messages from the people he loves most in the world.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Okay</em>, he thinks. <em>Good day.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly the prospect of tomorrow doesn’t seem so bleak. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Work is kicking Annabeth’s ass.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She has never been so busy in her <em>life</em>, and she has about eight gold medals in her apartment somewhere that she spent her every waking moment preparing to earn. It all started when she took on the biggest project of her life, thinking it would be a wonderful thing to challenge herself and push the boundaries of her creative limits. What a dumb fuckin’ idea that had been. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hasn’t slept properly in weeks, she’s being border-line harassed by her asshole clients, and Percy sent her a long thoughtful voice note about her favorite film of all time and all she could say back was that she was happy for him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s ready to fucking lose it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seems as though the young girl sitting across from her at their usual table can tell as much, because she is much less daring than usual in her questioning and subsequent distractions. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you walking on eggshells right now?” Annabeth asks Nawra, and her eyes widen as she stares at Annabeth in shock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I-I’m not,” she stutters. “I just thought—you seem a little—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A little what?” Annabeth snaps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bitchy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stare at each other, Nawra’s face a mask of horror, Annabeth’s of surprise, until Annabeth starts laughing wildly. Nawra watches her cautiously, as if she’s afraid Annabeth is actually in the midst of a breakdown and not genuinely amused (Annabeth cannot say for certain that that’s entirely untrue), but Annabeth continues on, tears streaming down her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, God,” she laughs, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry. Really, I am, I’m sorry.” She laughs a bit more. “I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I’m just really overwhelmed at work. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, I promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra nods, her shoulders relaxing a bit, but her eyes still trace over Annabeth’s face curiously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know you’re really friggin' scary,” Nawra informs her, and Annabeth grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So I’ve been told,” she says and sips her coffee. “I don’t know what it is, tho—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s your resting bitch face for sure.” Annabeth gives the girl a flat look and she sinks down into her chair a bit. “I mean…whatever could it be?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins and shakes her head and wishes as she sips her coffee that she had a lemon poppy scone to go with it. She purses her lips and fiddles with the rim of her cup, looking down at it so she won’t have to see Nawra’s reaction to the question she’s about to ask.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you interviewing Percy today?” Annabeth asks, trying to sound casual.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, like, right after you,” she tells her. “Why didn’t you guys just come together?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have an appointment at 10:30.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not a complete lie, but one glance at Nawra tells Annabeth that she absolutely does not believe her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean…he could’ve just come earlier, too,” Nawra points out quite plainly, and Annabeth purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He sleeps in on Saturdays. He needs his rest.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Because of the whole…” she trails off and taps the side of her head, “bonk thing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth chokes on her coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The <em>bonk thing</em>?” she says, trying with everything in her not to burst out into laughter. “You are truly unmatched.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra flushes and casts her eyes down to her hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—sorry,” she mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay; I think he’d probably find it really funny, actually.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra sighs heavily and crosses her arms over her chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He only thinks it’s funny when I suffer,” she grumbles, and Annabeth knits her eyebrows in confusion. Nawra waves her off dismissively. “He likes to laugh when I make a fool of myself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Generally most people like to laugh when others make fools of themselves.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra scrunches up her face in a pout and Annabeth purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” Annabeth mutters, remembering that whole tact thing she and Reyna had talked about. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Obviously Clarisse is not the only one lacking in that particular area. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s just—I get, like, really—ugh,” Nawra groans and buries her face in her arms. “I know you’re just <em>people </em>and whatever and I know that you’re super chill and nice, but—holy <em>fuck</em>.” She lifts up her head and looks at Annabeth miserably. “Do you all have to be so good-looking?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs a bit, covering her mouth with her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, God, do you—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Nawra exclaims far too quickly. “No. I don’t have a stupid crush on him, okay? I’m ace, for one thing, so his stupid perfect face makes no difference to me and also—he’s like, 80.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth feels a bit offended considering the fact that she and Percy are the same age, but she stays quiet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s just that I have this really persistent need to be liked by absolutely everybody and if I am not as perfect as the person I’m talking to then I start to want to throw myself into the Hudson River, you know? So obviously I hate talking to hot people because you can’t really change what you look like, can you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows, concerned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait—what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway,” Nawra continues, “it doesn’t really matter, like I said, because you’re both basically middle-aged and I can’t compare my own achievements to yours since I’m so young, but—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no,” Annabeth cuts in, and Nawra looks at her in surprise. “Go back. What are you talking about? Why do you feel that way?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The need to be liked by everyone? And perfect? And perceived as such?” Annabeth nods and Nawra shrugs. “I dunno, I guess it’s all I have, you know? Like, my brothers are all a bunch of useless shitheads with no sense and so I have to be the Good child and make up for everything they lack.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows in concern.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nawra, that’s not—you shouldn’t—it isn’t your responsibility, okay? You don’t have to be perfect just because your family sucks. You’re allowed to make mistakes, alright? You’re allowed to be human—nobody is perfect, least of all a couple of dumb athletes. We’re all messed up in one way or another and we all make mistakes and we shouldn’t put that pressure on ourselves. I mean, that’s—that’s how people like <em>me </em>are made. And believe me, you don’t want that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra stares at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s kind of easier said than done,” Nawra deadpans, and Annabeth nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. I know it is. It took me a really long time to learn that.” She thinks back to an abandoned office chair and crutches hidden under her bed and a nagging shame shooting through the back of her thigh. “I’m <em>still </em>learning that, actually. And it’s really hard. But you can’t just give in to it. You have to <em>try</em>, okay? You have to try. It’s all there is to do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra looks incredibly thoughtful at that, and Annabeth hopes against hope that the young girl before her does not turn into the woman sitting across from her. She’s surprised by how deeply that thought cuts through her chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s funny,” Nawra mutters. “Percy said the same thing to me a couple of weeks ago. About trying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods and refuses to let herself get distracted by what they possibly could have been talking about.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s because he understands it, too. He knows that nobody is perfect, and that the only way to ever get better, to even come close to being half-good, is to try. He’s right. I’m right—I’m always right, actually, you should jot that down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra smiles and Annabeth grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And I am sorry you feel that way,” Annabeth adds. “I know it’s probably especially hard once you’re home in that environment when you feel like you have to be perfect, but—at least here, you don’t have to be. Okay? You’re just a kid. You should get to be a kid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra’s lower lips trembles and she looks down at her pencil in her hands, then snaps it clean in half. Annabeth’s eyes widen in shock and Nawra gently sets down the pieces on the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, I’m feeling a lot right now,” she whispers, still refusing to look up at Annabeth. “I take it back, you’re not a bitch, I fucking love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think you ever called me a—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I came too close,” Nawra insists, leaning forward suddenly and looking up at Annabeth with wide eyes. She shakes her head. “Never again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth moves back in her chair and nods slowly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh…okay,” she says. “Thanks?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anytime.” She flips through her notebook. “Anyway, do you think you would’ve continued on competing forever if you hadn’t been injured and ruined your career?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth blanches at that, but she is saved from responding when Percy appears behind Nawra, looking confused. She is simultaneously relieved and crushed at the sight of him; never before has the urge to reach out and squeeze him until his lungs burst been so strong. God, she misses him. She misses him so much she could cry.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh shit, she cannot cry right now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh <em>shit</em>, she’s late.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, shit, I’m late!” she exclaims and fumbles around for her phone. “What time is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ten,” Percy tells her, and Nawra finally seems to realize he has arrived.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at him over her shoulder and grimaces, then turns back forward and crosses her arms over her chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, great, it’s <em>you,”</em> she grumbles, and Percy knits his eyebrows in confusion and offense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have to go,” Annabeth says to Nawra, standing and pulling on her coat. “I thought you were keeping track of our time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well that was kind of before the whole heart-to-heart, excuse me for needing closure,” Nawra responds, her usual spunk back in full force.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gives her a warning look as she shoulders her bag and Nawra shrinks down into her seat a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See you next weekend, same time, yeah?” Annabeth says, and Nawra nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finally looks at Percy, who is standing around awkwardly, waiting for Annabeth to move so he can take her place. A burning hot coil wraps around her heart at the sight of him, his curly hair completely unruly, his bright eyes downcast, his scarred hand wrapped around a little paper bag. She wonders what’s inside, but then he meets her eye and she knows immediately.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good to see you, Percy,” she says, and she needs him to know how much she means it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He offers her a half-hearted smile back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You, too,” he tells her. “Are y—” He clears his throat. “Um, Piper’s thing. You—are you—um—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m going, yeah,” she says. “I mean it’s New Year’s, so—I’ll see you there, won’t I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods and looks down at the bag in his hand and for a second she thinks he might offer it to her, but he just clutches it a bit tighter and moves around her to take his seat without another word.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She can’t really describe how heavily the moment weighs on her, and the feeling does not leave her for the entirety of her ride home, the trip up to her elevator, the walk to her room. She puts on her most comfortable clothes and grabs her laptop, then heads into her home office to find Piper at her massive oak desk. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her best friend smiles at her happily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Finally,” Piper says. “Took you long enough.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth groans loudly enough for it to be heard 20 stories down and Piper’s eyes widen as she scrambles out of the comfortable seat and offers it to her friend.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was just warming it up for you,” Piper says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It is extremely unlike her to give up what she has donned “the comfy chair” without a fight, and Annabeth frowns at her. That must mean something is wrong, or perhaps Annabeth is just such a wretched bitch that she has scared her best friend into submission. God, she just ruins everything, doesn’t she? Why does Piper bother putting up with her?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t give up your seat for me. You would never give up your seat for me. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Annabeth demands, because apparently her self-sabotage knows no bounds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the fuck is wrong with <em>you</em>?” Piper shoots back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth pouts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanna throw myself in the Hudson River, I think.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You would 100% turn into some sort of radioactive monster and while I would love to see you rule the world,” Piper begins, “green is tragically not your color.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everything is my color, I’m beautiful and radiant at all times,” Annabeth remarks sadly as she takes her seat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah yes, my glowing angel,” Piper coos, stroking Annabeth’s hair. “How could I ever suggest otherwise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth leans her face against Piper’s stomach.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are we really about to catch up on <em>work</em>?” Annabeth asks, but she knows the answer before she finishes her sentence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, because we need to have tonight and tomorrow free to bask in the glory of our life’s successes and eat so much we puke on each other in our sleep.” Piper pauses. “Also NYU’s program application is due in two weeks and I really, <em>really </em>need to have it submitted by Monday.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth straightens and takes a deep breath, then, and cracks her neck, which she knows Piper hates. Her best friend shudders and yells at her and moves over to the second desk in the corner of the office, and Annabeth smiles a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That will never get old,” Annabeth says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, and you will get <em>arthritis </em>in your <em>spine</em>,” Piper says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a myth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a myth. And yet here I am, suffering through your sadistic habits.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You love me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love no woman except myself. And Angela Davis.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You should write that in your personal statement.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I have.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They work uninterrupted for a surprising amount of time, neither one of them looking up to distract the other or discuss anything unrelated to their work. A couple of times Piper asks for Annabeth’s help with wording some sentence or Annabeth bounces ideas off of Piper, but other than that they are shockingly silent and productive. Annabeth is just about to celebrate how well they are doing by taking a break to walk around and stretch when Piper speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“By the way,” Piper says. “How’s Percy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper sends her friend a smirk, but Annabeth simply cannot bear to have this conversation right now, not after the events of this morning, or the past two weeks. She stands up and heads over to her filing cabinet where she keeps all her most precious designs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, I wouldn’t know,” Annabeth says. “Haven’t really spoken to him lately.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You haven’t?” Piper responds, and Annabeth can hear the frown in her voice. “Why not?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been so busy, Pipes. And I have this deadline coming up and my team is fucking killing me and I just don’t even have time to breathe most days.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. I’m sorry, dude, that sucks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods and tries to swallow the lump that’s formed in her throat, but she can’t get it down. Before she knows it the plans in front of her have turned blurry and she does her best to wipe at her eyes, but the tears beat her to it. She tries to take a quiet breath but it’s ragged and shuddering and she knows Piper has heard her because suddenly all movement stops until Piper is crossing the room and holding onto Annabeth’s arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, you okay?” she asks gently, and Annabeth shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” she breathes out, wiping at her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She moves to her desk and takes a seat, covers her face with her hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry. I don’t know how you put up with me, all I ever do is cry and complain and fuckin’…cry,” she says, wiping at her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper grimaces at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s so not true. You also fart quite a bit,” Piper says, trying for a joke, and Annabeth lets out a breathy laugh. “Beth, what’s this about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows hard and leans her face in her hands again, feels the ugly crying coming on. She lets out a sob and shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not good enough for you,” she cries into her hands. “I’m just—you’re like—you’re fuckin’—clear skies and sunshine in the summer and I’m—I’m like a fuckin’ natural disaster on the shortest day of the year. All I do is ruin things and—and you’re so good. I don’t deserve you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cries a moment more before Piper removes Annabeth’s hands from her face and sits on her desk, forcing her to make eye contact. She is covered in tears and snot and Piper wipes her nose and cheeks for her, then holds Annabeth’s face in her hands. Her wide brown eyes are so set in determination that Annabeth does not dare try to look away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen to me right now,” Piper says firmly. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, do you understand me? Without you, I would not be half the person I am today. We were fucking 14 and we were lost and hated our parents but we had each other. You taught me so much about devotion and loyalty and love. The only thing I ever knew was absence but you’re the one who showed me what it means to show up for someone, and to do it every goddamn day, without fail. Do you really believe I could ever think that you’re not good enough for me, you dumb bitch? You’re the one who taught me to be good. You are everything to me, do you understand me? Everything.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows, her tears still pouring down her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re everything to <em>me</em>,” she half-whispers. “That’s why—why I feel like—like you—you deserve—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t you dare say I deserve better,” Piper says sternly. “There is no one better. There’s no one better. I love you to death, you little fool. I would literally die for you. I would cut off all my extremities and give you both my kidneys and my entire liver if it meant you would live to see another day. I don’t fucking care if you believe me or not. That’s how I feel. Do you understand? Do you get that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth wipes at her cheek and nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” she apologizes again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re fragile and stressed out and obviously something happened today that you’re not ready to talk about,” Piper says gently, brushing Annabeth’s hair out of her face. “It’s okay. You can cry to me anytime. We both know I’ve done it to you enough.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Remember when you stormed into my hospital room after the surgery and cried until Athena kicked you out?” Annabeth says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper throws her head back and laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was fucking great. I’ve never been kicked out of somewhere for loving someone too much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Love is on her list of forbidden emotions, didn’t you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, yes, how could I forget, Athena Gold: Heartless Hag.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s smile falters a bit and she knits her eyebrows, looks down at her hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I’m really scared,” she says quietly. “I’m scared that…I don’t want to turn into her, Pipes. It’s my biggest fear.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper tilts Annabeth’s head up by her chin and holds her eyes so sternly that Annabeth feels herself shrinking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are not your mother,” she says earnestly, and suddenly Annabeth feels her own size again. “You will never be your mother. You’ve already proven that a thousand times over, every time you put your friends before yourself, every time you do something for the sake of another person, every time you have ever genuinely cared for anyone. You let yourself feel those things and you let yourself show them. That’s the difference between the two of you—she couldn’t teach you how to love anyone, but you learned anyway, and you love so deeply. You just can’t recognize it. You think it’s just being a decent person, but that in and of itself is an act of love. Love is in everything, you fuck. It is in every single thing we do. Just because you’re not aware of it all the time doesn’t mean you can’t feel it. You do. I’m proof of that. <em>We </em>are proof of that. Alright?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows and nods and Piper smacks a kiss onto her forehead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you so much,” Annabeth whispers, hugging Piper to her closely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love <em>you</em> so much,” Piper returns, and kisses the top of Annabeth’s head. “We haven’t had a heart to heart like this in a really long time.” Annabeth nods. “We should do it more. I love telling you how much I love you. It’s my favorite pastime.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs a bit and Piper sits on her lap.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, your turn, tell me how much you love me,” Piper says, sitting up straighter and flipping her hair over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you so much that I am not going to kill you for putting all your weight on my bad leg.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper shoots out of her spot and moves back to the desk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, I’m sorry, do you need ice or something?” Piper asks, rubbing Annabeth’s knee gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine,” she says, then pauses. “I know we said we had work to do—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, let’s go take a nap, fuck this,” Piper interrupts, and Annabeth has never felt so seen in her entire life. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They cuddle up in the middle of Annabeth’s bed despite its large size, Piper wrapping her entire tiny body around Annabeth’s. Annabeth sighs heavily and Piper nuzzles her nose into Annabeth’s hair. For a few moments Annabeth breathes deeply, shuts her eyes and does her best to quiet her mind. Piper is warm and soft and everything she needs right now, and there is not a single thing in the world Annabeth could ever do to express the overwhelming amount of gratitude she feels in this moment. She cannot believe how lucky she is to be loved by someone so genuine, so open, so fucking kind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She has a thought, fleetingly, that she does not deserve it, but she remembers Piper’s words from earlier. <em>I don’t fucking care if you believe me or not</em>. Whether or not Annabeth feels worthy of her best friend’s love doesn’t matter anymore; she’s always had it, and she always will. That is the one thing she can be absolutely certain of.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pulls Piper’s arm around her closer and Piper lets out a sleepy sigh and Annabeth thinks her heart might burst inside her chest. She is not her mother. She is not her mother. Her mother would never let anyone, no matter who they are, so close to her. Physically or emotionally. There is no one in the world that woman could ever open up to, no one she had ever been vulnerable with, not even her own daughter. One more thing that sets them apart, Annabeth thinks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is surprised by how much relief that thought alone provides her, how much tension is released the moment it is done. If one simple idea can carry so much weight, Annabeth decides that she will start to notice more, to remind herself each and every time she takes a step away from the person she never wants to become. And, she thinks, she will start acting that way, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She will actively decide to try harder, to do more to fight the proud ugly monster lurking in the depths of her being, the one that tries to convince her love is worthless, that she will only ever get hurt, that she will only ever hurt others. She is better than that. She knows she is. If she has to list out every reason why every single day for the rest of her life, she will do it; she cannot go on like this any longer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper lets out a gentle puff of breath that tickles Annabeth’s neck and she sighs softly herself. Nobody is perfect, she thinks, but her best friend is incredibly close. She smiles a bit at the thought, remembers what she said to Nawra earlier, and she makes a decision.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s high time she took her own advice; it is high time she starts to try.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*** ~ ~ ~ ***</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I can do it. I can do it. I can do it.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy repeats the chant to himself in his head until the words blend together, until every individual sound becomes one, until he makes himself dizzy with the reminder. He can do it. He can get off this elevator, walk up to Annabeth’s door, and knock. And he can say what he has to say to her when she opens it. If she opens it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh, God, what if she doesn’t open it?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy shakes his head vigorously at the thought, trying to expel it from his mind. Of course she will open it. She’s expecting him, after all. He’d finally bitten the bullet and sent her a voice note asking if they could talk, to which her response took way too long (almost a full hour, and it had nearly driven him to despair). He’d told her that he had to get to Hazel’s disgustingly scheduled Sunday exam and stay with her until it was time to go in, which meant he just needed a few minutes of Annabeth’s time, as he wouldn’t be able to stay long. She’d agreed, told him she would be glad to see him, and that was that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She would be glad to see him. Until he said what he had to say. Then she would probably be the opposite of glad. And he would want to crumble to dust on the spot. But that is neither here nor there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The elevator dings. Percy steps out, takes one look down the hall, and turns on his heel to go back inside. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I can do it I can do it I can</em>—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers to himself as he plants his feet in the hall. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He walks up to her door and takes a deep breath, then knocks on it three times. Maybe three times was too many. Or too little. Did she even hear him? Was he too loud? What if she isn’t even home—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy,” Annabeth greets as she swings open her door, smiling gently. “Hi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows loudly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” he spits out, then feels his eyes widen as she knits her eyebrows in confusion. “I mean—hi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles a tiny bit, obviously amused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna come in?” she asks, stepping aside, and he nods, but stays where he is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They look at each other for a few beats and Percy realizes that it is time to walk inside, but his legs will not obey his mind’s orders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cup,” he says, shoving the coffee he got her into her empty hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows in concern.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy—are you alright? Is today, like, a bad day for talking or—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. Yeah,” he lies. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It is a great speech day. He woke up, called his mom, had an entire conversation in <em>English </em>without stuttering a single time, and then narrated his every movement to himself out loud to practice some more. He is just scared shitless, is all. But how does he explain that to her?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” she says. “Come in, and we can, like—play charades.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at him nervously, as if she’s worried it’s a joke she’s not allowed to make, but it works, breaking through his nerves and startling a laugh out of him. She grins and he steps inside and he can remember very clearly the last time he was here. How he’d fallen asleep beside her, pressed into her for warmth, how every breath either of them took felt like a sonic wave roaring in his ears. How his heart had pounded so violently he was sure she could feel it against her side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everything smells like lemons. Lemons and Annabeth and too many memories to keep track of. Memories that burn through his chest, excruciating and unforgiving.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hates this.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to take off your shoes if you’re in a rush,” she tells him as she walks over to her kitchen. “I know you have to get to Hazel’s exam.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods and she motions for him to have a seat, so he does. She stands across from him at the narrowest part of the island—he could reach out and hold her hand if he wanted to. He does want to. But he won’t. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just—” he tries.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen, I have to—” she begins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both try to speak at the same time, and Percy shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You go,” he says, and she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just wanted to apologize, Percy,” she tells him, and he feels his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “I’ve been really distant and weird and it’s just—I’m sorry. I have so much to do for work and I’m so busy I hardly have time anymore and—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“S’okay,” he tells her, and she looks surprised. “Work sucks. I get it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do really miss you,” she says quietly, looking down at her hands, and Percy thinks his heart might rip to shreds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—me, too,” he tells her. “A lot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at him with sad, wide eyes, and he offers her a small smile. He does. He misses her so much he thinks it might kill him one of these days. And now here he is, about to ruin everything.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have—I need—” He takes a deep breath and clears his throat. “I need to say—something.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods encouragingly and he does his best to keep his face neutral, but he’s always been terrible at it. He knows he is an open book, betrayed by his expressive eyes, his damned cheekbones, his big fucking mouth. He couldn’t tell a lie if he tried. He shuts his eyes and scrunches up his nose and inhales heavily, and he looks at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second their eyes meet her face changes entirely, gone from concerned to utterly horrified, maybe even pained. She starts shaking her head before he even opens his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth, I—I just—feel like—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, don’t,” she says, nearly pleading with him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s like a steel fist to his gut, knocking all the wind out of him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t say it, okay? Please don’t say it.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cannot breathe. He can’t really do anything, actually. He just sits there, dumbstruck, suffering, wishing some higher being would have mercy on him and strike him down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just—it’s—I can’t right now. It’s not something—I can’t, and I don’t want—I don’t want to fuck this up, okay?” Annabeth says. “You mean too much to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and nods, finally finds it in him to stand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” he says, and she knits her eyebrows, a pained expression on her face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” he repeats, trying to sound reassuring.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks he just sounds constipated. Or fucking devastated. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have—Hazel,” he says. “So—I’m gonna—Hazel.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re—you mean everything—to me,” he hears himself say. “So it’s okay. It’s okay. I don’t care. I just—you’re my friend. Right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And—we’re friends.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Best friends,” she assures him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cannot describe how much that means to him. He supposes it hurts, too, just a little bit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry Percy, I—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He offers her a reassuring smile and squeezes her arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Promise,” he tells her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows and takes his hand back, suddenly uncertain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are we—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re fine. I promise,” she tells him, and he lets out a breath of relief.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles a bit, despite the nagging in his chest that he knows will make itself known to him soon. Despite the fact that something has shifted here, now that he's said what he's said. It will never be the same again. Best friends or not.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. See you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He starts to leave and she calls after him once he reaches her door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Soon?” she asks, and he manages a small smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmhmm,” he hums. “Soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The moment he steps out of her apartment it’s as if something in his chest cracks apart, once, twice, twice more. He pushes it down until it finds a home in his stomach, and he knows for a fact that he is playing a dangerous game but he does not have it in him to care. Let it grow, let it fester and rot and become another part of him he cannot shake. He cannot care, at least not right now. Not when Hazel needs him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cannot believe it took her falling apart for him to finally realize something was wrong. He’s been a terrible friend, a terrible brother, but that all ended after last week. From now on, he will be there for her, no matter what it means. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He manages to make it to Cornell’s medical school building fairly quickly, stopping to grab her a bagel and a coffee on his way. She always forgets to eat on test days. As he bursts through the doors and hops on an elevator, he is never more grateful for the fact that she has been able to stay in the city for her first two years before she has to leave for the Finger Lakes next year; he’s not sure how he’ll manage without her. He doesn’t like to think about it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He spots her sitting outside her lecture hall, biting her nails furiously as she reviews her notes. He plops down beside her and places the paper bag on top of her notebook, and she looks up at him with wide, terrified eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna shit myself,” she says, and he shakes his head and places the hot coffee in her cold hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re gonna kill it,” he tells her. “You’re gonna fuckin’—get a 200.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She almost smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A 200?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmhmm. They’re gonna name—a building. Hazel Levesque Horse School.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finally laughs (weakly, but he will take what he can get), and she throws her arms around his neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you,” she whispers. “You don’t have to stay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up, dummy. I’m staying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She squeezes him tighter and then releases him and unwraps her bagel, takes a massive bite. She mumbles something completely incomprehensible and he wipes the cream cheese off her cheek for her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gross bitch,” he says, and she elbows him, then swallows a large gulp of coffee, no doubt scalding her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel nothing,” she gasps and takes another gulp. “I am air, fire, earth, and water right now. I am the fucking avatar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels his eyes widen in concern and tries to take the cup from her but she glares at him with such ferocity he raises his hands in surrender. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eventually the doors to the hall open, and she stares at her old, white professor with wide eyes. He smiles at her warmly and welcomes her inside and while everyone else files in, Hazel packs her things with shaky hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re okay,” he tells her, helping her gather her belongings. “You got it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know my shit. I am a genius. I am the avatar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just nods along with her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aang or—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel fucking Levesque, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely and smacks a kiss onto the top of her head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Luck,” he tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Brains,” she shoots back, standing up. “See you on the other side.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He salutes her and she finally makes her way into the room, throwing him an uncertain look over her shoulder. He smiles brightly and gives her two thumbs up, tries to be steady and sure enough for the both of them. He can only hope that it will work. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next two hours go by excruciatingly slowly as he waits for her to finish her exam. He is absolutely not thinking about what happened earlier in the day, no matter what. He is not paying attention to his shallow breaths, to the pressure sitting on his lungs, crushing him. He cannot let himself despair, not here, not now. He tries for a pattern, a way to calm his nerves, a way to take his mind off of how selfish he had been this morning. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How could he have been so thoughtless? He should have known better than to risk their friendship for the minuscule chance that she might—well. He supposes it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t. And she knew better. Why didn’t he?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bites the inside of his cheek and turns his focus to Hazel, thinks about her sitting in that room, fretting over material she knows like the back of her hand. He tries to send her telepathic reassurance through the big double doors, but all he can bring himself to think is <em>avatar, avatar, avatar</em>. He suddenly hopes the message will not get through.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first student out leaves the room only 45 minutes in, and when Hazel does not file out with the larger group that seems to be the majority of the class later on, apprehension starts gnawing at his gut. He presses his thumb into the scar on his palm anxiously as he waits, but then she finally emerges, looking absolutely exhausted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shoots up out of his seat and looks at her expectantly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay?” he asks nervously, and she grins at him widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re gonna name a damn building after me, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He throws his arms up in triumph and squeezes her into a hug, knocking the breath out of her as she gasps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy I can’t—breathe!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He drops her down and peppers her face with kisses instead, and she shoves him off of her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mom, stop,” she complains, but she is laughing, and he is overjoyed for her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We need—a party,” he demands. “Music. Dancing. Friends. Food.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nico’s?” Hazel suggests, and Percy’s eyes widen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nico’s.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They realize they should probably call and let Nico know of their plans only once they get off their train and start up the subway steps. Luckily he and Will are home, and Will is cooking, and they are fully prepared to celebrate Hazel’s success. When they arrive outside the couple’s apartment door Hazel only has the chance to knock once before Nico throws it open and wraps her up in a hug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You fucking did it!” he shouts, throwing her around like a rag doll.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nico, you’re going to break my <em>neck</em>,” Hazel laughs. “Let me go!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just drags her inside and deposits her onto the U-shaped couch, then sits on her legs and bounces up and down. Percy steps in and shuts the door behind him, kicking off his shoes as he watches the scene play out in front of him, amused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will, we need the triumphant music!” Nico calls over his shoulder, and Will’s head pops out from behind the wall that separates the living room from the kitchen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“On it,” he says, then glances at Percy. “Hey, Perce! I’m gonna fucking stretch you like taffy, you dirty liar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, backing up towards the door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t you dare!” Will threatens, and he sprints across the room and slams the door closed before Percy can step out. “You dusty bitch. You owe me so many exercises it’s appalling.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel did it!” Percy exclaims, pulling Will into a hug in an attempt to distract him. “We need—music!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We need music, William!” Nico adds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wilhelm, where is the music?” Hazel demands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will end you,” Will whispers into Percy’s ear threateningly, then smacks a kiss onto his forehead like they’re in The Godfather. “This isn’t over, Jackson.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Love you, too, Sunny,” Percy says cheerfully. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will narrows his eyes at Percy, but he is terrible at looking angry and it just does not stick. He gives up and turns to Nico and Hazel.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the vibe, are we feeling classical triumph, Lady Gaga glory, or perhaps a big ol’ fuck you to everyone and everything?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck you,” Nico, Hazel, and Percy say in unison, and Will nods as he scrolls through his phone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Say no more.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then they are jumping up and down and yelling along to <em>Killing in the Name</em>, getting way too invested in the outro and probably scaring the neighbors. Hazel screams the last words of the song with everything she has, then promptly collapses onto the couch and breathes heavily in the silence that settles over them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think we should bring some Maxine Nightingale into this,” she suggests.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, did you think she wasn’t queued up already?” Will says as the next song begins, and Hazel grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know me so well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I try, my dear.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Feed me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The timer on the oven dings at that exact moment and before Percy knows it they are all seated around the coffee table enjoying an assortment of homemade pizzas. Most days, Percy doesn’t mind cooking for himself. In fact, he loves it; the process of preparing his own meal soothes him in a way very little else can. Every step requires his full attention, so that there is no room to dwell on what might be bothering him. Today, though, he is infinitely grateful for the fact that his friends have taken care of lunch for him. All he wants to do is stuff his face and lie down and never get back up again. He’s had quite the day.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanna—toast,” he says after finishing an entire pie on his own. He lifts his cup of Coke and everyone else follows. “Hazel Levesque, Horse School.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel Levesque, Horse School!” Will and Nico echo back as Hazel laughs hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They all drink and Hazel rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t even know what I got yet,” she says. “This is all really very premature.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But you had a good feeling, and your good feelings are always right,” Nico says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, you’re, like, psychic,” Will adds. “Remember when I lost my keys and you knew they were in my pocket the whole time?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s because I know you’re an airhead.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will places his hand on his chest in offense and Nico kisses his cheek.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay, you’re <em>my </em>airhead,” Nico says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmph,” Will grumbles, but he accepts a kiss from his boyfriend anyway. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come to think of it,” Hazel begins, “that’s not the first time that happened, is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Absolutely it’s not,” Nico says, grinning widely. “Remember when you lost your glasses on the top of your head?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or when you called me to complain that you couldn’t find your phone?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, I was <em>hungover</em>—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ooh, you gave me the—the band. And you forgot where you put it,” Percy adds. “And it was in my hand.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or every time we go to return something and you only realize you’ve forgotten the thing at home once we get to the store,” Nico says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this Celebrate Hazel Day or Shit on Will Day?” Will asks, an exasperated smile on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel like we can have both,” Hazel offers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Agreed,” Nico says. He looks at Percy. “Thoughts, Perseus?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods once, shutting his eyes, and Nico looks at Will and shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“3 to 1 Shit on Will Day. Tough luck, kid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate all of you,” Will remarks, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not my fault I’m absent-minded.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re too smart,” Nico tells him, wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulders. “Your big brain is full of all that knowledge. No room for common sense.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will pouts and Nico kisses his temple.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My little dummy,” Nico coos.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy and Hazel laugh as Will huffs out a breath that Percy is sure was intended to be angry, but actually sounds amused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever, at least I’m not a trust-fund baby,” Will says, and Nico’s jaw drops.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s low, William.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Will and Percy’s favorite siblings continue to go back and forth with each other, getting louder as they do. Percy sees an opening to excuse himself and grabs everyone’s plates, heads into the kitchen. He feels a bit out of it now, stuck in his head, and he needs time to collect himself, time away. He is incredibly happy for Hazel, does not want to ruin her good mood, wants to be there for her best he can. But for the moment he needs to take a step back. </span> <span class="s1">You can't be there for the people you love if you’re not taking care of yourself, Percy reasons. So he will recognize what he needs, and once he’s gotten his shit together he will go back out there and yell and laugh and dance with his friends all damn night. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is washing all the dishes in the sink when he hears someone tut their tongue and gets shoved out of the way of the sink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s wrong with you?” Nico says, shutting off the tap. “Don’t do our dishes, you fuckin’ weirdo.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy pouts as he turns to his friend.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I like it,” he defends.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the matter?” Nico asks. “You’re quiet today.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy shrugs and leans against the counter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t lie to me, bitch. You promised no lies.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I-I-I—oh, fuck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He covers his face with his hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t say it,” he mumbles, and Nico exhales a sharp breath through his nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hold on a second,” Nico says.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><strong> <span class="s1">*** </span> </strong> <span class="s1">Percy lifts his head from his hands and finds Nico rifling through his drawers until he produces an item Percy hasn’t seen since the early days of his accident. A small soundboard Leo made for him, with enough simple words to form a sentence, plus some choice expletives. Percy grins widely when he sees it, cannot believe Nico kept it all this time. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—in the kitchen?” Percy says, nearly laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nico shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You never know when you’ll need it,” he reasons. “Plus this is Model Two, if you recall. Model One exploded in Sally’s closet.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s eyes widen as he recalls the day in question. His mother had cursed the machine up and down in every language she knew after extinguishing the small fire, then kicked the thing over. It got stuck repeating <em>fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck </em>in its weird robotic voice for over an hour before it sputtered and died, and she and Percy had collapsed into a fit of laughter two minutes in. It was a good day, all in all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway, here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nico shoves the machine, no larger than a cutting board, into Percy’s hands, and Percy winces as he recalls what he must do. He hits the buttons in turn.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I. Did. Something… </em>He hesitates, then hits <em>dumb</em>, then <em>gross,</em> then, <em>bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nico takes the machine out of Percy’s hands before he can get to 10 whole <em>bad</em>s and Percy feels his entire face scrunch up, feels a sickness churning in the pit of his stomach. His hands are shaking fairly suddenly and before he can try to calm himself Nico speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Nico says, placing the machine down on the counter. “Okay. It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy shakes his head vigorously. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s—not,” he says, but Nico places his hands on Percy’s shoulders, grounding him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is. Whatever it is, we’re gonna get through it together, okay? I don’t care if you fucking killed someone—we’re in it together. Alright?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy swallows, his vision going blurry, and Nico pulls him into a hug very suddenly. Percy almost doesn’t know what to do with himself; Nico does not initiate hugs with anyone but his sister or his boyfriend. But there he is, surprisingly strong for someone who refuses to so much as lift a water bottle to his lips most days, and Percy is ready to fall apart at the seams, so he wraps his arms around his friend and buries his face in Nico’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Did</em> you kill someone?” Nico asks quietly. “It’s fine with me, but we probably shouldn’t tell Will. First do no harm and all that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs a bit and shakes his head and Nico sighs and hugs him a bit closer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, well, that’s good. No one’s dead, right?” Nico says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyone maimed? Marred? Dismembered?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy shakes his head again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well then this hug was wasted on you, let go of me,” Nico says, but Percy holds onto him tighter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A second,” Percy protests, and Nico sighs in defeat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it…did you get really angry with someone?” Nico asks quietly, and Percy shakes his head again. “Okay. We don’t have to talk about it right now. It’s fine. No one’s hurt. You’re safe. It’s all good.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy swallows and shakes his head again, because it is definitely <em>not </em>all good, and it is all his fault. He releases Nico and scratches at his left palm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bathroom,” he says, and leaves before Nico can stop him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The moment Percy steps into the small space, he locks the door and drapes a hand towel over a mirror, because he cannot stand to look at himself. How could he, really? How could he bear the sight of himself, the reflection of everything he is not, the reflection of someone so selfish, so wrapped up in his own bullshit, that he has let not one, but two of his closest friends down? He can’t. He can’t look himself in the eye, pathetic, broken, weak. He can’t be reminded of what he had intended to do that morning, the way he had been so sure it was the right thing to do, the look on Annabeth’s face when…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face. She had looked so terrified, so incredibly scared of him, of what he was about to say. He has memorized a thousand different expressions, a thousand different lights in her eye, but never had he seen her so utterly undone. He had ruined everything. In a single moment, he’d ruined it all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knows rationally what Annabeth had said, remembers her reassurances. Remembers the relief he felt when she’d said those two words that somehow released him of his burden and dragged him right back down simultaneously. <em>Best friends</em>. But best friends do not put their own wants ahead of their loved ones, they do not forget themselves in moments of weakness. Best friends do not ignore each other. Best friends do not make each other uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Best friends do not put looks like the one Annabeth had thrown him on each other’s faces. They just don't.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leans his elbows on the sink before him, tries his best to snap himself out of this, to stop the spiral. He cannot do this here, right now. He cannot have an episode in Nico’s two-foot-wide bathroom. He cannot. He feels sick and he feels rotten and he thinks maybe he might vomit, so he leans his head down and breathes deeply, in and out, in and out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last time he spoke to her—said anything of significance—the last time he spoke to her…he’d fucked up everything, hadn’t he? He always knew that at some point he would say the wrong thing, and it would get him into trouble. He knew he would manage it somehow. He just never imagined it would’ve happened because of something he wanted to say on purpose. He couldn’t believe that for once, he really truly meant what he had to say, and it had ended so horribly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could never speak again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As if his tongue agrees with his internal monologue, he recognizes the way it begins to grow heavier in his mouth, as if it's made of lead. He feels it, very oppressively, pushing against the back of his throat, feels the weight of it nearly stopping him from breathing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Breathing. He is meant to be breathing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes his time, inhaling, exhaling, getting himself together. Outside he can still hear Hazel and Will’s booming laughter, the utter joy that Hazel is finally exuding for the first time in months, after everything she’d been through. He needs to get his shit together, for her if no one else. He needs to get it together, and be happy for and with his best friend. She is half the reason he is in this room right now to begin with. He can't believe that he’d been so blind to her struggles, that he hadn’t even thought to ask about school, that he’d left her alone when she needed him most. He will not make that mistake again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns on the tap, splashes cold water on his face, tries his hardest to let it clear the fog in his mind and ground him. It works, to an extent, and he picks up the towel he’d thrown over the mirror and dries his face with it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t look at his reflection as he arranges a smile on his face and opens the door to head back outside. Hazel needs him. Right now, that fact is more important than anything else. Right now, his best friend is all the matters. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Why, then, does he feel a familiar knot in his belly start to ache and expand, as if it’s finally become one with the lining of his stomach?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tells himself he ate too much, filled up on pizza and soda. He tells himself he simply needs time to digest, even as he remembers how clearly he’d shoved that shattered glass in his chest down to the bottom of his gut when he left Annabeth earlier. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tackles Hazel into the cushion behind her and yells about her genius, and there is joy and laughter all around him while his stomach burns with the knowledge of all he has held back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He does not let himself dwell on the thought that it is only a matter of time before it erupts. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've added a final chapter count! Since I've outlined the direction, plot points (plot? what plot?), and nearly finished planning some main character arcs, I've decided the main story will wrap up in chapter 9, and the epilogue will come in the form of chapter 10. This maybe might possibly change if I think the story will flow better some other way, but for now here we are. Again, thank you all so much for reading, I love you all dearly.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Recap of last chapter's section if you had to skip: Percy went to Annabeth's place to talk about his feelings, she realized what was happening and promptly cut him off, he fell into a shame spiral (as he is known to do) because he felt guilty for jeopardizing their friendship, Hazel aced her exam, Nico comforted Percy in his time of need and Percy resolved to be a better friend (to Hazel and Annabeth both)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A couple of things to note:<br/>-Chapter deals with self-worth (or lack thereof), societal/individual perceptions of disability<br/>-Tragically Nawra didn’t make it into this chapter but don’t worry, she’ll be back soon!<br/>-Initially I intended for this chapter to be half angst and half resolution but it turns out all I know how to do is make myself cry. It's not crazy heavy but there is lots of introspection (as per usual) and tears (also as per usual). Just wanted to let you know ahead of time.<br/>As always, thank so much for reading! Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is having a really great night, for the first time in far too long. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On Thursday as they ate lunch together, he and Clarisse had lamented over the fact that he had not come over for dinner in over two months, and it was long overdue. She had been acting a bit out of sorts for the past few weeks, and as they spoke Percy thought it must have been because of how long it’d been since they spent real quality time together not in a car or the rescue center. So obviously, he was overjoyed to set their plans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is overjoyed now, eating short ribs and making an absolute mess of himself in the process, as his best friends do the same beside and across from him. He laughs from his belly when Reyna scratches at her nose and leaves a streak of sauce across her skin, and she flips him off with a very messy hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love ribs,” Clarisse sighs, leaning back in her seat. “It’s eating the way the universe intended.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hands and teeth,” he says, and she points at him with the nearly-bare bone in her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Exactly. It’s why I love eating at your mom’s house, she never makes me use my utensils.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Except <em>maqloubah.</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, but it’s damn worth the spoon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles widely and watches as Reyna licks all ten of her fingers absolutely shamelessly, her face a disaster zone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fucking phenomenal, as usual,” she says, leaning forward onto her elbows. “Guess when the last time she made this was.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here we go,” Clarisse mutters, and Reyna holds up her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go ahead, Perce. <em>Guess</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He senses that he is being put in the middle of something he does not have the capacity to navigate, and the crazy look in Reyna’s eyes is only made more worrisome by the fact that her face is absolutely covered in reddish-brown sauce. He purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh…a month?” he suggests, then winces when Reyna exclaims “ha!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Guess again, little boy,” she demands almost maniacally, and Clarisse finally steps in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I cook 10 hours a day at work, okay?” Clarisse says. “Do you think I come home and say to myself, ‘I don’t think I’m going to make my wife who I would die for happy today’? Do you think I’m some sort of monster? I fucking love you. I will fill this apartment to the brim with ribs and roast and every damn food you can think of. On my days <em>off</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna pouts, putting her sticky hand over Clarisse’s.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you,” she says. “I don’t expect you to go all out every day of the week. I just get caught up in the euphoria of the culinary experience.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse breaks out into a wide smile and Reyna grins as well, then leans over and kisses her wife, wiping her hands all over her cheeks. Clarisse doesn’t seem to care, though, and stays right where she is, and Percy looks down at his plate, trying not to cry at how adorable they are.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He does not succeed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After dinner, once everyone’s faces and hands have been thoroughly washed and dried, they sit around the coffee table in the living room with tea and cookies, catching up on what they have missed in each other’s lives. Clarisse has had to fire her sous chef for being an <em>incompetent waste of space</em>, Percy is busier than ever working with Grover on their proposal for the open sanctuary, and Reyna seems to have been in a struggle with social norms as she attempted to dismantle ableism in her office.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait—what?” Percy asks, his mouth full of cookie. “Why—why—why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t say much more in his surprise, so he chews as he waits for her to respond.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nobody was sitting down. They all thought that because I had a standing desk that meant I expected it of them too? Or something? Or maybe it was just the norm for them before they arrived and so when they entered their workspace it’s what they thought they had to do? Either way, I should have made it clear from the beginning that I didn’t expect that from them, so it’s on me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy frowns as he thinks about a certain someone he has been avoiding like the plague out of shame for the past two weeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth,” he begins. “Did she—she has crutches.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It seems to be the reason why she needed them more often lately,” Reyna tells him, and he feels his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>What</em>? Is she—what’s <em>wrong</em> with her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s fine, now,” Reyna assures him. “She sits, she rests, she takes care of herself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s so—so—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Frustrating. Prideful. Stubborn.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Yes</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But you love her anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is taken aback by that, and he blinks at her silently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We all love her,” Reyna says, unfazed by his response—or lack thereof. “Despite her many faults, we love her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We love her. All of it. With her faults.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reyna smiles a bit and he feels his cheeks heat up as he looks down at his cup of tea. He knits his eyebrows as he remembers what he’d done, what he’d almost said, how selfish he had been. He doesn’t deserve the chance to love her after all of that. Even if she’d assured him otherwise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Stupid dumb idiot</em>, he thinks to himself. <em>Stupid dumb dummy idiot.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, I have to tell you something,” Clarisse starts shakily, and he realizes that she has been silent for quite a while.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows in confusion, as she seems to be having some trouble meeting his gaze, and he frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you okay?” he asks. He looks at Reyna, panicked. “You’re—are you—sick?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no of course not,” Reyna responds for her wife. “No. We’re both perfectly healthy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets out a sigh of relief, only realizes at that moment that he’d been holding his breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. Thank God. Holy hell.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leans back in his seat and presses his palm to the top of his head. They’re safe and healthy and well. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then why the fuck does Clarisse look so distraught?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sits upright and leans his elbows on his knees, looks at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is it?” he asks. “If you’re okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did something terrible,” she says, swallowing. “I did a horrible thing. And I—I understand if you’ll be angry. I get it. You should be. I would be, too. Because I promised you—I said I wouldn’t—I get it. If you never forgive me. If you don’t want anything to do with me, after this. I’m sorry, okay? I need to apologize first.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels a wave of dread wash through his stomach, has no idea what in the world she could have possibly done to ever warrant such a response from him. He would never not forgive her for anything she could possibly do. He loves her too much. Surely she knows how much he loves her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rue—don’t be dumb,” he says. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watches her lower lip tremble as she swallows again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I talked to Annabeth. Like…a little over a month ago. I—I said that—I said that she should leave you alone, if she thought she couldn’t handle being with you. I told her to let you go if she had even the slightest doubt. And now you’re miserable and she’s miserable and I ruined everything for you and I’m so sorry, Percy. It wasn’t my place, I shouldn’t have ever done it. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Where Percy expects burning rage he finds only a blunted numbness; both are old and familiar. Only one keeps those he loves safe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not your fault,” he tells her, surprised by the steadiness of his voice. She gapes at him, eyes wide. “It just—it means—she can’t handle it. Like you said. It’s not your fault. It’s not her fault. It just—” He shrugs. “She can’t do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They are quiet before him, looking at him in shock, mouths agape. Reyna is staring as if she expects something more. An explosion. An errant tear. Anything other than the hard mask of indifference he feels his face settle into. He understands. He’s always understood. This is why he’s been alone so long, after all. What did he expect? What did they expect? She’s not the first to cut her losses and keep herself safe. She probably won’t be the last, either. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That thought cuts through him and for one gut-wrenching moment he feels a sharp tug in his stomach, but he forces it back as he places his glass down on the table and stands. He moves around the table to kiss Reyna and Clarisse both on the cheek, Clarisse still so shocked that she doesn’t even recoil like usual. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks—dinner was delicious. Like always,” he says, and he feels the knife carving deeper still. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns before he can betray any emotions, his throat tightening like a vice, and grabs his coat off the rack by the door, shoves his feet into his boots. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy,” Reyna calls out abruptly once his hand is on the doorknob. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t. He can’t stand here and listen to her try to comfort him. It’ll only make everything worse. It’ll only leave him battered and bruised and cut deeper than he ever would be alone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s better off alone. So he leaves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He manages to make it to the elevator before he breaks. He hits the button for the lobby and feels the tears stinging his eyes, feels his stomach heave and twist, sickly sour. He’s better off alone. He’s better off alone. He doesn’t need to be in love. He doesn’t need anything more than he already has. Best friends. Family. They give him all the love in the world. They’re enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he presses the balls of his hands into his eyes hard, tries to stop the flow of tears. They’re incessant, unrelenting. Why is he crying? Why the fuck is he crying?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scrubs at his face furiously as the elevator dings and the doors open to the empty lobby. The one thing he is grateful for is the time of night. Less people around to see him fall apart, he supposes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is an undeniable chill in the early December air, one that cannot be ignored any longer. He’s been bundled up in his coat and hat for weeks now, but he shoves his gloved hands into his pockets as he heads towards the subway, raising his shoulders to his ears in an attempt to fight off the cold. He tries to focus on his visible puffs of breath, watches it as it funnels out of his mouth and nose, dissipates beneath the streetlights. He wonders if Annabeth is home right now, warm and cozied up on her couch, if she is safe, comfortable. Happy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I don’t need her. I don’t need her. I don’t need her. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tries to tell it to himself over and over again, as if repeating it might make it more true. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I don’t need her. I don’t need her. I don’t need her.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then why the fuck is he crying? Why is he still crying?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What he has now is enough. What he has now has always been enough. He doesn’t need anything more. He swears, he doesn’t need anything more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he needs <em>her</em>. He needs her, in any form, no matter what it is. He doesn’t care if she will never love him the way he loves her. He doesn’t care if she marries someone and has 10 kids and lives happily ever after without giving him a second thought. He needs her in his life. He needs her as his best friend. Because at the end of it all, she is. She is one of his best friends. And that hurts so much worse than anything else. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He trusted her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He trusted her not to leave him. He trusted her to understand. She was so quick to do it, so quick to make him feel comfortable and understood. He doesn’t get it. Where between their meeting and the moment she decided she couldn’t handle it had that changed? Which was the straw that broke the camel’s back, what made her retreat, leave him behind?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It can’t have been his near-admission last week, because Clarisse…Clarisse had said it was over a month ago. Right around the time she became distant and he did not have the courage to find out what went awry.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Had he asked too much of her? Had he done something wrong, made her uncomfortable, showed her too much of himself too soon? What could it be? Why had she thought so little of him that she never even bothered explaining it?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He deserves an explanation. Of that much, he is certain. He deserves to know the truth. He deserves to know what he did wrong. If only to be certain he will never do it to anyone else. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s his fault, after all. This is his fault. A second thing he can be sure of, he realizes. He’s always known more than he could ever initially give himself credit for.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he finally makes it back to his apartment he prays it is empty, prays that Hazel is not home. She’ll see right through him. She’ll see right through him, and she’ll try to talk to him, and he will fall apart all over again. He can’t handle it tonight. He can’t handle it, period. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a deep breath and twists his key in the lock and there she is, textbooks and notes and colored pens spread around her at the coffee table, her curls falling out of her loose double-buns. She grunts at him in a greeting and he grunts back, earning a snort from her in response, but she is so engrossed in her work that for now, he is in the clear. He toes off his shoes and hangs up his coat and decides he’ll have a shower, if only to stave off Hazel’s prying eyes a bit longer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second the hot water hits his skin every ounce of resolve he has left crumbles, and he heaves and sobs and silences it all so Hazel will not hear. He is weak and aching and the gnawing in his stomach will not relent, digging deeper with each passing moment. His muscles are so taut and tense that the moment he releases them he knows he will not be strong enough to stay upright, so for the first time in over a year he uses the seat set up for him at the end of the tub, and lets the water wash over him until it runs cold. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I’ll never be enough.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One thought. The one thought he knows is at the root of all his pain, everything that is happening here. He twists the knob on the shower and the water runs hotter, burning his skin, and he leans forward, elbows on his knees. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">A shower seat and muscles too weak to lift him out of it and a mop of curly hair soaked down to his chin. He kneads the scar on his left palm and presses down on either side of it, thumb and forefinger, willing the wound the reopen, for his hands to break the skin. He reminds himself that he </span> <span class="s1">was weak the moment it happened, but he has not been since. He knows better, now, knows what strength lies within him. He has learned, time and time again, that there is no weakness in asking for help, in being afraid, in who he is. He knows better.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Why, then, doesn’t she?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He slumps forward and slams the shower knob into the faucet surface, cutting off the stream of water in its place. He brings his hands back to his face and takes three deep breaths, and he makes a decision. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He reaches for his towel and dries himself off where he sits, head to toe, best he can, and wraps the towel around his waist. His leg may be weak but he is not insecure enough to believe himself to be anymore. He calls for help. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel finds him there with an apologetic smile on his face, and she knits her eyebrows in concern as she loops her arm around him and helps him out of the tub. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened?” she asks. “You were okay earlier, no?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Got tired,” he tells her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You lazy bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she helps him to his room and throws a pair of underwear and sweats at his face and tells him to get decent before she vomits everywhere. He takes a moment to breathe in and out, wrangles himself into his boxer-briefs and pulls on the sweats slowly. He should go out there, he knows, to check on her, to make sure she’s doing alright, but his legs won’t let him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No. His mind won’t let him. And he doesn’t have the energy to fight it, not right now, so he tosses his towel into the hamper in the corner of the room, climbs up his bed, and buries himself beneath the covers. The light is still on but he shoves his head under his pillow and shuts his eyes tightly to block it out. It works well enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel must finally give up working because at some point he hears the light switch and feels her climb into bed beside him. She shoves her cold feet against his knees and he hisses and she laughs as he picks up his pillow and whacks her with it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Witch,” he grumbles, and he turns his head to face her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls onto her side and rests one hand beneath her head, reaches the other out to comb through his damp hair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Had to see if you were still awake,” she defends, and he rolls his eyes despite the darkness. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’s studying?” he asks her, and she sighs heavily and nudges closer to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit. But I don’t care. I have two finals left, and I’m gonna fuck shit up. I mean it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Proud of you,” he says through a yawn, and she yawns in return.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You stayed by Rey and Clarisse pretty late,” she remarks. “Everything okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and nods and she tugs on his ear before taking her hand back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think…Hazel. It’s time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh? Time for what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m going to—Long Island.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To live. I’m moving.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>What</em>?” she exclaims, half-sitting up in shock. “Since when? With who? Where exactly? Why? How? <em>What</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He exhales heavily through his nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t—do it anymore. I can’t,” he says, and he can hear his voice crack. “I’m so tired. I’m so—I can’t. I can’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, okay,” she says, scooting closer to him and wrapping her arms around him. “Alright.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sniffles and she scratches his back in big, soothing circles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers. “You deserve to be happy, Percy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He squeezes his eyes shut tight. He knows. He knows, but what he has learned today sends a shock of pain through his chest nonetheless. He can only be so strong. He can only take so much. He knows better, now, but things like this, times like these—they certainly test his progress.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks back to a rooftop in August, a cool breeze washing over two hands, new to each other. Hope and a smile bright enough to light up the darkened sky and two grey eyes glinting silver, a throwaway comment turned to a promise with the passage of time: <em>it’s what all my friends call me</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He holds Hazel a little tighter and tries his best to tell himself that the next time he says her name, he will be fine pronouncing all three syllables.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth is a nervous wreck. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She has spent the better part of four hours trying to psych herself up for Piper’s New Year's party, preparing herself to see everyone. Well, one particular person. One particular person who, when she last saw him, had the courage to say what she could not, who she interrupted, like a dumb fucking idiot, and did not let speak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She thinks she might be sick.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She paces back and forth in front of her bed, biting her thumb and lamenting her actions. She has been overwhelmed with shame since the moment Percy left her apartment two weeks ago and no matter how she tries to justify her actions she ends up in the same place, ends up seeing the look on his face, absolutely crushed, as if she’d just ripped the air out of his lungs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Part of it, she is sure, came from what was happening—the rejection, she supposes. But the other part—oh, God, the other part—must have been rooted in something else, something she could never begin to understand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>The only things he could control were his decisions, his behavior…to have someone take that away from him…really sore spot for him…</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head vigorously, tries to stop the sound of Leo’s voice repeating those words in her mind over and over again. It’s all she’s been able to hear for two weeks, playing over the devastation she could see in Percy’s eyes. The devastation she’d put there, by taking away his choice. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She forces herself to swallow down the horrible acid burning its way up her throat and decides she needs to leave this very moment, before she can spiral any further. She will apologize to Percy in person when she sees him. She will say all that she has to say, and if he does not forgive her, well—that’s his prerogative. It’s not as though she deserves his forgiveness, anyway. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knows she is running a bit late, and although Piper doesn’t typically care about her guests arriving on time, she usually depends on Annabeth to help her with last-minute decisions about decor and music that she decided on months in advance. She texts Piper her apology and gets a middle finger in response followed by a JUST GET HERE and about ten thousand hearts interspersed with knives. So she’s in a good mood, at least.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth takes comfort in the fact that the party will only be Piper’s closest friends, everyone Annabeth has already met, including Jason. It’s a relief that after having her nerves shot with guilt and anxiety for two weeks straight she will not have to worry about putting on airs and will be able to be her complete self, and be loved for it. The thought is just enough to make her smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she arrives at Piper’s apartment and heads into the living room, though, she is entirely unprepared to witness the scene before her: Percy sitting at the coffee table, talking and laughing, cozied up a woman with curly red hair and a smile that could light up the damn New York skyline. She has her long, slender arms wrapped around his neck and she is kissing his face all over—his cheeks, his nose, his eyes. Annabeth swallows and looks away just as she kisses his chin because she cannot bear the sight of it, cannot bear the burning she feels in her chest, the sting behind her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She does not know why she’s upset. She has no right to be upset. Percy had tried to tell her, hadn’t he? He’d tried, and she’d told him to stop, and now he is being fucking devoured by some gorgeous redhead with paint stains on her jeans and it is all Annabeth’s fault. She’s done this to herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hightails it to the kitchen, intent on drinking until she cannot see straight enough to feel the anger and despair and disappointment cut through her like a dull knife, aching and grating and dragging along, pulling her apart so slowly she can feel herself rotting as it goes. She finds a bottle of vodka and starts pouring herself a glass far too large. It is then that she is interrupted by the redhead herself, and she takes a massive swig before she turns to face the beautiful, green-eyed woman before her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well fuck me, you’re stunning,” the woman says to her, and Annabeth stares at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um…thank you?” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re like—wow.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stares at Annabeth intently, far too piercing for her liking, but Annabeth refuses to make herself small. She stands up to her full height and rolls back her shoulders and the woman bites her bottom lip. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh no. You’re Annabeth, aren’t you?” she asks, and Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How do you know that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The woman sighs heavily, resting her elbow on the counter and her chin on her hand as she pouts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s not important. I can’t hit on you now, I guess,” she laments, and Annabeth gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily and straightens out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean, I don’t know how strictly straight you are—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m bi,” Annabeth mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The woman’s eyes light up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Interesting,” she says. “Listen, I don’t know how to say this, but—I think I’m probably in love with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth chokes out a laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know it’s definitely not cool of me to do this since my best friend is so obsessed with you, but—I need to take the chance while I can get it, before it’s too late. I am enamored with you. I took one look at you and I was done for and—Percy’s here, Percy! Babe, how are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gapes at the woman, whose name she still doesn’t know, as she smacks a kiss onto Percy’s cheek and wraps her arm around his waist. Percy glances at Annabeth but does not meet her eyes as he speaks to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” he greets Annabeth shyly, draping his arm around Rachel’s shoulders, and Annabeth smiles at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He still won’t look at her. In fact, she’s fairly certain his eyes are fixed on a point somewhere past her ear, over her shoulder. She tries not to let it get to her, but already her stomach is turning. She forces herself to talk anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Perce,” she says. “I was just talking to…um…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rachel Elizabeth Dare,” the redhead says as she sticks out her hand for a shake, and Annabeth takes it tentatively. “Holy shit, like electricity.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes her hand back and Annabeth knits her eyebrows in confusion. Percy frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Red, you fucker,” he says, and Rachel purses her lips. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t <em>do </em>anything—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God, you were <em>actually</em> hitting on me!” Annabeth exclaims, finally realizing that the woman wasn’t just messing with her earlier. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows and frowns, pointing between Rachel and Percy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But—you were—and the kissing—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I’m kissing him because he’s a fucking work of art. Look at this face,” she says, squeezing Percy’s cheeks in her hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth cannot bring herself to disagree. He looks especially handsome in the dark blue sweater he’s wearing, his white undershirt peeking out from beneath his collar. He’s let his beard grow back in a bit, just a trace of stubble, and Annabeth has to stop herself from saying something very stupid and entirely inappropriate.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Strictly speaking, I am a lesbian,” Rachel says. “But I can’t keep my hands off this one. He’s just too pretty.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles widely and Percy rolls his eyes at his friend. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s true. And he smells like fucking heaven.” Rachel gives Annabeth a once-over and Annabeth raises her eyebrows, intrigued. “You also smell incredible. Is that—lemons?” Annabeth nods. “Holy shit. I gotta get out of here. Percy, you just—I get it. I want to run away with her to Paris and paint her as the sun sets behind the Eiffel Tower—fuck me, I’ve gotta go, this is a lot, you are overwhelming.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs a bit and Rachel gazes at her, her eyes wide and sad.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In another life, I suppose,” she mutters. “One where my best friend isn’t in love with you already.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy blushes so fiercely Annabeth can actually make out the red tint of his brown skin, starts stuttering like crazy, and Annabeth grins as she bites the inside of her cheek, trying to stop herself from smiling as widely as her cheeks seem to want her to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See? He’s speechless,” Rachel says, and Annabeth tilts her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think maybe that’s the brain damage,” Annabeth remarks before she can stop herself, and Rachel gapes at her as Percy chokes out a laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wholly inappropriate,” she says, and Annabeth does her best not to smile. She made him laugh, at least. “I would marry you tomorrow if I could. Will you marry me tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth shakes her head no and Rachel sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Least I tried.” She claps Percy on the back and kisses his temple. “Go get ’em, champ. See you out there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then she is gone, and Percy and Annabeth are left in the wake of her storm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” Annabeth breathes. “She’s like—she’s more chaotic than Piper. And that is saying something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy shakes his head, his eyes wide. His face has mostly returned to its normal color, and he seems to have calmed down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have no idea,” he tells her. “She’s—holy shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit.” Annabeth pauses. “I would marry her, you know. In another life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy narrows his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not ours?” he says, and she shakes her head. “Why not?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Apparently her best friend’s obsessed with me,” she tells him, a bold move considering what she’s done to him. An asshole move, actually. “I couldn’t come between them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles a bit, a tiny thing that doesn’t reach his eyes, and she feels her heart twist at the sight of it. An asshole move for sure. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grabs a bottle of water from the counter and nods his head for her to follow him, so she trails behind him as he heads back to the living room to be with the rest of their friends. He takes his same seat from earlier and Annabeth tries to decide where she should sit. Reyna and Clarisse are sharing a loveseat as they talk with Nico and Will, who are reclined on the L-shaped couch. Piper is on the floor with Leo and Jason, and—<em>Jason</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You blond bitch,” Annabeth says, and Jason looks at her over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins so widely she thinks his face might split in half, and he moves to stand but she stops him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t. Your hips will fall out,” she says, and he laughs brightly as she leans down for a hug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh how I’ve missed your shrewd wit,” Jason sighs, and Annabeth wrinkles her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Still a huge fuckin’ nerd, I see.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Still a huge fuckin’ bitch, I see.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins widely as she straightens.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Always.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jason laughs brightly and Leo raises his cup to her in a greeting, so she raises hers back. She laments the fact that she will have to sit on the floor when Hazel, bless her, catches her eye and smiles at her warmly, waving Annabeth over to her spot on the second loveseat. They share the cushion, Hazel half on top of Annabeth, and Annabeth cannot begin to describe how grateful she is for Hazel’s presence. Her knee can't either.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so glad you’re here,” Hazel says. “I feel like we haven’t really had the chance to hang out lately.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles widely, overwhelmed at how genuine Hazel seems to be, how welcoming and kind she is. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad, too,” Annabeth says. “How’ve you been, how’s school?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel grimaces.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“School is vile,” she responds. “It takes up all my time and energy and I think I might be dying inside.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s eyes widen a fraction and Hazel shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But whatever, it’s New Year’s Eve and I’m about to get so fucking drunk Percy’s gonna have to carry me home.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs and Hazel grins widely and nudges Annabeth with her shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, what’s your New Year’s intention?” Hazel asks, and Annabeth knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean my resolution?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, resolutions are bullshit, they always fall through. New Year’s intentions are less like strict goals and more like…setting the tone for your year. My intention is to be more intentional.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs a bit and Hazel grins widely, elbows her gently. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So what tone would you like to set for your new year?” Hazel asks, then takes a sip of her drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth takes a deep breath and purses her lips. She tries to imagine a better future for herself, one in which she is the happiest she can possibly be. But what is that dependent upon? What needs to change?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She thinks back to all she’s learned in the months since she’s moved back to New York, all the people who have become a part of her life. The most glaringly obvious change is all the love she has in her life now, all the love she has allowed herself to feel and receive. She would certainly like to continue moving in that direction. She remembers her conversation with Reyna, considers the idea that she really should start practicing some self-compassion. It is a process, she knows, but what she’s doing now, the way she is living her life—it’s just not sustainable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She inhales deeply through her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think maybe…love?” she says uncertainly, and Hazel nods encouragingly. “Like, being more open with it. For others and myself, I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think that’s a really great one,” she remarks softly, and Annabeth purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I always thought it was, like, stupid or whatever. I hated talking about it, thinking about it, feeling it. It always made me feel really weak.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What changed to make you realize that was bullshit?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles the tiniest bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s cheesy,” she says, scrunching up her nose, and Hazel grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There is no one on this Earth cheesier than Percy Jackson,” Hazel says. “Nothing you can tell me will even come close to the shit that’s come out of that man’s mouth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs and despite her best efforts not to look at the scene playing out directly in front of her, her eyes fall on them anyway. Percy and Rachel and Rachel and Percy and Rachel Rachel Rachel.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her stomach burns and her chest starts to ache, and with a start she realizes that, despite knowing there is nothing going on between them, Annabeth is overwhelmingly, horribly, disgustingly jealous. She is jealous of the way the other woman’s hands so freely move across Percy’s skin, of how close she can be to him without consequence, of how much of his attention she is taking. Most of all, she is jealous of how easy their relationship is. She is jealous of the fact that they are completely, utterly happy as they sit and talk and hold hands or take turns sitting in each other’s laps. It’s a comfort and a familiarity that Annabeth longs for now that everything has been ruined with Percy, ever since he made his feelings known to her. Ever since she denied him despite wanting desperately to accept. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is an undeniable wedge between them now that did not exist before, and no matter how civil or how kind or how gentle they may be with each other, it will make its presence known, digging into their skin, forcing them apart. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s attention is finally dragged away from the not-couple when she feels someone’s hands squeezing her arms and she looks to see Piper kneeling before her, blocking her view of Percy and Rachel. Her eyes are warm and sympathetic and Annabeth has never been more grateful for her best friend’s intuition than she is at this moment. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna take a walk, Chase?” Piper asks, and Annabeth nods vigorously. “You too, Hazy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t call me that,” Hazel grumbles. “The only reason Percy’s allowed to is because—well—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a weak bitch who can’t say no to his puppy-dog eyes?” Piper says as the two stand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Actually, it’s the whole hemorrhage thing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth chokes on her drink and Piper laughs wildly as Hazel grins widely. Before they exit Hazel kicks Rachel away from Percy and leans down to smack a kiss onto his cheek.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See ya, Ugly,” she tells him as she stands, and he frowns and looks between the three standing women.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where are you going?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fresh air. Need to go into the new year with clear minds.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re getting drunk,” he tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She taps his head three times and he taps her wrist back the same way, then sticks his foot out and trips her as she goes. She looks about ready to beat him up but Piper drags her away as she shakes his fist at him, threatening his life. They are so close—<em>so close</em>—to getting out before Rachel stops them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you mind if I join you?” she asks, and Annabeth wants to put a muzzle on her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper glances at Annabeth but nods her head slowly, and Rachel smacks a kiss onto Percy’s forehead before she gets up and makes her way over to the three women. She winks at Annabeth and Annabeth truly has no idea what to make of this woman as they all shrug on their coats and head up to the roof. It’s only once they get there that she thinks she might be beginning to understand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been trying to talk to you all night, bitch,” Rachel says to Piper once they’re outside, and Piper knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I saw…You-Know-Who after yoga the other day.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper’s and Hazel’s jaws drop in shock, and Annabeth knits her eyebrows in confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stupid selfish prick,” Piper says harshly. “Did you speak to him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course I did. So I could call him a stupid selfish prick.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper grins and Annabeth notices that Hazel is still silent, a murderous look in her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What did he say?” Hazel mutters. “Anything about Percy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth becomes even more confused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, hold on, please—who is this person? What did he do?” she asks, and Rachel scoffs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t know about Ad—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Speak not that name in my presence,” Piper demands, and Rachel rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy never told you?” Hazel asks gently. “About his ex-boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not really our place—” Piper tries to say, but Rachel speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy dated this man for nearly two years. Then he had his accident, and the piece of shit up and left while he was still in rehab learning to walk again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth feels the blood drain from her face, feels a hard wall of shock slam into her, turn her cold. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And that would’ve been—I mean, you can kind of understand, you know? Like, not that what he did was justified, but it was better of him to leave early on than abandon Percy later. It would’ve been wrong of him to stay out of pity or whatever,” Piper continues. “But he just left. Disappeared. Never said goodbye, never explained himself. Percy went back to his apartment after he got out of rehab and all the asshole’s stuff was gone. Poof. Just like that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anger warms Annabeth back up until she thinks she may be boiling from the inside out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the <em>fuck</em>?” she says sharply. “What a piece of <em>shit</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth notices Hazel watching her carefully, her eyes narrowed slightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great, now you’re caught up,” Rachel says. “Anyway he said he was glad to see me and I told him to go fuck himself, obviously, and he got really quiet and tried to apologize but I wasn’t having it. And then he asked about Percy.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They let the information settle over them for a moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did he say anything about him?” Hazel asks, finally tearing her eyes away from Annabeth. “Like, did he say he misses him, or—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, he just asked. And I told him it’s none of his business, and threatened to have him kicked out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper snorts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t own the yoga studio,” Piper says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I most certainly fucking do,” Rachel responds. “Lest you forget we own half the goddamn skyline.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nearly chokes at Rachel's declaration, and Rachel barely spares her a glance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yeah, I’m the heir to Dare Enterprises, etc. No big deal, I don’t talk about it unless I’m using it to manipulate assholes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So he didn’t say <em>anything else</em> about Percy?” Hazel presses before Annabeth has time to process this new information. “Nothing at all?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Hazel, he didn’t—” Rachel stops and narrows her eyes at their younger friend. “Why? What do you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing,” she says firmly. “I just have an inkling.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, you think Percy would ever go there again? He’s not an idiot,” Piper defends.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I don’t think he would. I just think…three years is a long time, to forgive someone. And Percy keeps talking about, like, moving on. Growing and changing and…evolving, or whatever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows and lowers her eyes, tries not to think about whatever implications may exist in relation to her. But this is not about her, this is about Percy, about his friends’ concern for him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He hasn’t talked to you guys about anything, has he?” Hazel asks. “Anything new?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They all shake their heads and Hazel nods, setting her jaw. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right, well, I’m gonna head back down there and beat the shit out of him. See you soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then she is gone, and the rest of them stand huddled in a circle, freezing their asses off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s way too cold to stay out here any longer,” Piper says. “Please let’s go inside.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait,” Rachel says. “I think we need to cleanse the dirty energy speaking about that asshole brought to us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper rolls her eyes to the sky as Rachel closes hers, but holds out her hand nonetheless. Rachel grabs it, then fumbles around to find Annabeth’s hand as Piper takes her other one. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everyone shut your eyes,” Rachel says in a soothing voice, and Annabeth wrinkles her nose at Piper. Piper rolls her eyes once more and shrugs, then follows Rachel’s lead, but Annabeth doesn’t quite trust her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eyes closed, Annabeth,” Rachel says calmly, her eyes still shut, and Annabeth startles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finally gives in and shuts her eyes, and Rachel exhales heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now we’re going to take three cleansing breaths. Inhale clean, positive energy, exhale negativity.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grimaces but breathes deeply along with Rachel and Piper until Rachel sighs and tells them it’s alright to head back inside. Annabeth tries to take her hand back from Rachel but the redhead holds on and sends Annabeth another wink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Soft hands,” she tells her, and Annabeth half-laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are really fucking strange,” Annabeth tells her, and she shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So I’ve been told.” She pauses. “Have you considered who you might be kissing when the ball drops?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s enough,” Piper cuts in, shoving between Rachel and Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you’re not careful, McLean, I’ll be kissing <em>you</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d like to see you try. I will be kissing Leo, thank you very much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well who am I supposed to kiss?” she complains.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel jumps up but Piper slaps her hand over her friend’s mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to kiss anyone, it’s not a goddamn mating ritual,” Piper says. “Although Percy seems like a fair choice, no?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth purses her lips and quiets as they approach Piper’s apartment, and Rachel skips ahead of them to move inside while Piper holds Annabeth back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened?” she asks, and Annabeth shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It doesn’t matter,” Annabeth says. “Nothing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper gives her friend a hard look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Spill it, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth shuts her eyes and heaves out a breath. She thinks back to intentions, open honesty, love. And then she tells Piper everything.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Later, as the ball drops and Annabeth’s admission does not weigh so heavily upon her, she celebrates with her friends knowing that this is what it means to share love, lean on each other. Every person in the room save Rachel has helped her in more ways than they will ever know, and as everyone shouts and kisses and embraces in the face of the New Year Annabeth feels her intention more strongly than ever before. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She squeezes Piper and bounces around with Leo and Jason and even manages a hug out of Clarisse, who seems more averse to physical affection than ever before. Percy grabs Clarisse from behind and squeezes her, planting a kiss on her cheek, and she tries to fight her way free as he and Reyna laugh. Once he’s stopped torturing her he turns to Annabeth and sticks out his hand for a shake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles a bit and takes his hand in hers, shakes it once, and she does not let go.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Happy New Year, A-an—Annabeth,” he says, and all at once as he avoids her gaze she knows exactly what this means. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She will not have it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Happy New Year Perce,” she says, swallowing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I practiced,” he tells her, looking down at their hands. “Good?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She forces herself to smile a bit and shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. Yeah. I’m really proud of you,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She thinks maybe she swallowed a ball of molten hot steel as the sensation settles in the bottom of her throat, burning her chest. He drops her hand but she grabs onto his sleeve, desperate.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, wait, please,” she says, and he frowns at her in confusion. “I—can I see you soon? Can I come over?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He eyes her warily, seems to consider her offer, and he nods slowly. He offers her a tiny smile, the kind of thing you’d use to part with an acquaintance, someone you’ve only just met, and the ball burns hotter against her sternum. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gets dragged away by Rachel in an instant and Will plants a kiss on Annabeth’s cheek, and she is swept up once more in the celebration of new beginnings despite the nagging in her gut telling her that one of the most important things in her life will soon be ending.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth pounds on the apartment door in front of her with a determination she only ever used to reserve for Olympic races and building sketches. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After the events of New Year’s Eve she gave herself time to process, time to think hard and decide what she wants from her life, what more she needs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her first conclusion was that she cannot maintain her current work routine. Despite the fact that she can now rest and better take care of her leg while at the office, she has been denying her body’s pleas to slow down and regroup for far too long. Her pain, which improved after she began resting at work, has been worsening with a vengeance lately, in no small part because she has stopped her daily routines. No more nightly massages with peppermint oil or soaks in the bath or PT exercises outside of her weekly sessions. All of it was put on hold as her workload increased, as she threw herself into the only thing that could truly distract her from the many truths about herself that she had been avoiding. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which leads to her second conclusion: she cannot keep avoiding the things that are difficult to think about and deal with. She’s already broached the topic of her mother with Piper, and she is teaching herself how not to be afraid with each passing day, but there is more to her mental health than her traumatic past. There are things that need to be dealt with in the here and now, things that have prevented her from growing the way she should and could be. Her stifling pride, for one thing. Her crippling fear of vulnerability, for another. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s working on that with her therapist. Her bi-weekly sessions have proven to be more than just 45 minutes of awkward silence and a constant stream of <em>I don’t know</em> in response to every question posed to her. It’s more like a 15-minute battle against old habits to start with and some tentative but significant discussion. But she’s <em>working </em>on it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her third conclusion has brought her here, now, to the frantic <em>bumpbumpbump</em> against Percy’s door, the pent-up energy coursing through her veins that she absolutely needs to release before she explodes. She nearly punches Percy in the throat when he finally swings the door open, rubbing at his eyes tiredly with his sleeve pulled over his fist. His eyes widen in surprise as Annabeth only just misses his windpipe and her fist freezes in mid-air.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning,” she greets a bit breathlessly, and he stares at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh…um.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head and steps back, opening the door a bit wider, an invitation to come inside. Annabeth does exactly that, toeing off her shoes, and Percy shuts the door behind her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—I—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Time,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wonders for a moment what that might mean when he mimes brushing his teeth, scrubbing his face. Oh. He needs time to wake up and start his day. That makes sense, considering it is not even 9 a.m. and she has probably just disrupted his much-needed sleep on his day off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” she apologizes, feeling heat spring to her cheeks. “Take all the time you need, really. I’ll just wait here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He points to the kitchen and then spreads his arms and she nods in understanding.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll help myself if I want,” she assures him, and he offers her two awkward thumbs up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs a bit and the ghost of a smile plays at his lips before he disappears down the hall, tripping slightly on the long legs of his plaid pajama bottoms. She takes a seat at his tiny dining table, the same place she sat the last time she was here. When they ate Percy’s homemade lunch and knocked their knees against each other and Annabeth realized that the excruciating pain in her chest was not acid reflux but the longing desire to just <em>be </em>with him, once and for all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The day she truly decided to pull back. The day she realized how selfish she had been to ever allow herself to get so close to begin with. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is still lost in thought when Percy returns looking much more alert, fresh-faced. He smiles at her a bit and nods his head over to his kitchen, then moves behind the tiny island to start grabbing a flurry of different items—cups, a box of tea, a glass pot that he fills with water and sets on the stovetop. Once the fire is lit Percy moves over to the table and takes his seat across from her, folds his hands in front of him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good mmmm-mmm—” He takes a deep breath. “Good morning.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning,” she returns, mirroring his pose. “How are you today?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tired,” he admits, smiling sheepishly, and she scrunches up her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry I woke you. I shouldn’t have, really, I just—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He puts his right hand over her interlocked pair and sends her an understanding look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“S’okay,” he tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second he removes his hand from hers she longs for the warmth of his palm once more, the desire so poignant that she nearly grabs it back. But that is exactly why she is here. She cannot give in to those impulses any longer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, I just—I really think we need to talk,” she tells him, and he swallows nervously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes shift away from hers as he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he agrees.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, then. “I’m really sorry about the other day—when I—when you tried to tell me how you felt and I interrupted you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His cheeks turn a deep shade of red as he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t—um, it’s—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not okay, and yes, I do have to apologize.”  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stares at her, then. She is painfully aware of the irony of the fact that she has just interrupted him while apologizing for interrupting him. Full circle, she supposes. She continues anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was wrong of me, not to let you speak. It was obvious how much you needed to get it off your chest, and you wouldn’t have come to me if you weren’t serious about it. I cut you off, and I shouldn’t have. I should have let you say what you had to say. I feel terrible about it. I’m so sorry I did that to you, Percy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and nods, his green eyes becoming a bit misty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks,” he whispers, biting at his cheek hard enough for his dimple to show. “I—it hurt. But I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have said it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows, confused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why not?” she asks. “Did you not mean it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I did—I did. I just…it was selfish. To say. We…we were friends—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Best friends.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Best friends. And I…ruined it. I ruined it when I said—when I tried to—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, look at me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He meets her eyes and she can see how tortured he is, can see the fear and the pain written clearly across his face. Has he been carrying it around for this long, worried that he was the one to upset her? Can he really be so self-sacrificing?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God, she wants to kiss him, the stupid, considerate buffoon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You did not ruin anything,” she tells him firmly. “You were not being selfish. You felt a certain way, and you were brave enough to tell me about it. You were brave enough to let it show. That is <em>not </em>something to be ashamed of, or feel guilty about, okay? I promise you it’s not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods slightly, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe her, not fully at least. Which is exactly what she was worried about.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, you didn’t do anything wrong,” she insists, and his expression pinches inward, as if he’s in pain. “You just…you had the courage to say what I couldn’t.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watches her cautiously for a moment as she takes a deep breath and reaches out, brushing her fingers over the back of his left hand. The thick, smooth skin of the scar stands out against the rest, soft and reddish-brown where its surroundings are rough and dark. He moves his hand and flips it over so that his palm faces the ceiling, the pads of his fingers brushing against the inside of her wrist. She’s surprised by the size of the mark that runs the length of his palm, hadn’t realized how large it was from the brief glimpses she’d gotten of it in the past. She traces her fingers over it gently, moves her thumb over the meaty skin beneath his own, where the scar begins. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wants so badly to understand how it happened, to learn about this thing he has kept from her, but she is too afraid to break the silence and ruin whatever peace they’ve found here. He catches her hand with his own and tucks them together, wrapping his first four fingers around her thumb and curling them into the back of her hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will you?” he asks quietly, his eyes still locked on their hands. “Say it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She exhales a shaky breath from her nose, curls her own fingers around his hand tightly. Better late than never, she supposes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I will,” she whispers, and his eyes lock onto hers with that intensity she barely has the strength to withstand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She forces herself to hold his gaze. It’s the least she can do after all the pain she’s caused him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, I…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She swallows and bites down on her tongue, feels a rush of fear overwhelm her. She has no idea how he found it in him to do this. She has no idea how he can manage to show such strength where all she has ever been is weak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His face softens and he squeezes her hand twice, firmly, so she squeezes his back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Two times means—I know you,” he tells her gently, and her throat seizes up painfully as her vision goes blurry. “It’s okay. I know. Two times.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He squeezes her hand again and she returns it in kind, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. He reaches out with his right hand and she notices that it does not tremble as he brushes her tears away with her. He taps her cheek with his thumb twice and she cannot stop the wild shaking of her shoulders for the life of her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Here she sits, having come with the intention of being the one to fix the damage she has done, all while he taps his heart out against her skin and takes care of her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises their entwined hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles gently, bumps his nose against them three times.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What does three times mean?” she asks as she wipes at her right cheek and he cleans her left. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles sadly and repeats the motion and he will not look her in the eye. And she knows. She knows him, so she catches his hand against her cheek and squeezes it twice. She knows him. She squeezes it once more, because three times means <em>I love you</em>, and there is not a single part of her that can deny loving him any longer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks at her, finally, and she wishes he hadn’t. She can’t bear to see the agony, the anguish she has put there, and she does not want him to see hers. She only wants him to be completely, utterly, entirely happy, but all she has done since sitting down here is cause him pain. And she can’t do this to him any longer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I should go,” she says, but she leans her cheek into his palm, and her legs do not obey her command.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods his head, but he does not let her go either. He kisses her hand again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I miss you,” he whispers into her skin. “I miss you—so much. And I—I don’t—know. Why you stopped. I need to know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was so scared,” she admits quietly, hating the fact that his eyes have spilled over, that she is the cause. “I was too afraid to lose you, Percy. I couldn’t—I couldn’t stand it, if I ever hurt you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks utterly defeated as he lets their hands fall back onto the tabletop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You already did,” he tells her, and she feels her breath leave her lungs so quickly she forgets how to get the air back in. “You didn’t—talk to me. You didn’t tell me—anything. I just had to—to—and Rue. She told you—” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Three times,” he mutters, his voice absolutely shattered. “Three times—it’s not enough, is it? I’m—it’s too much. You can’t do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Percy, it has nothing to do with you,” she tells him, squeezing both of his hands so hard her knuckles turn white. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She needs him to understand this, if nothing else. She holds his eyes firmly, and he doesn’t bother wiping away his tears as they fall down his cheeks and drip off his chin. Completely and utterly open, even when it means she can stomp right in and destroy him. Even in the face of danger, there is no part of himself he will not share with her, and that is exactly why she is certain they cannot do more than hold each other’s hands and squeeze. Because he will give every single part of himself to her until there’s nothing left of him, and she will be too terrified to ever give anything back. And she will take, and take, and they will break apart. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s known it since the second day they ever met, and she knows it now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me, okay?” she presses on. “What Clarisse said—that wasn’t the reason, Percy. She just reminded me how selfish it would be for me to do this with you. Because I’m not brave enough. And I don’t know that I ever will be.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows, then, confused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What—what did she say? Exactly?” he asks, and she swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at their hands, too ashamed to meet his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She said—she said that if I thought I couldn’t handle being with you, then I should leave you be,” she tells him, her voice just barely above a whisper. “She said it wasn’t fair of me to do that to you. Because—because you’d blame yourself. You’d blame what happened to you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She glances up at him to find that his face is a mask of total shock, and his grip on her hand slackens as a fresh wave of grief overcomes his features. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She thinks I—she thinks—if we—then I’d blame…my accident?” he asks carefully, his voice trembling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows and nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s just trying to protect you, Percy. Keep you safe. She loves you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sets his jaw and clenches his fists as he pulls his hands out of her reach, onto his lap. She cannot understand the newfound anger on his face, the rage that comes and goes so quickly Annabeth is almost convinced it was never there to begin with. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something hisses on the stove and Percy curses as he stands and moves over to it, shuts off the burner. He leans against the counter with his back to her, his shoulders raised to his ears, his head dropped down, and she watches his back as his entire body starts to shake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can—go,” he tells her. “Go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cold fear settles over her stomach, freezing her in place, but he is trembling and broken and there is nothing she can do but sit and stare, and she cannot stand the thought that that is all she will ever be capable of doing. Watching him from the sidelines, leaving him alone. Her sudden desperation spurs her to action, and she moves to stand next to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please,” he begs her, his voice cracking, and she watches him fall apart in front of her. “We can talk again. Late—later. I can’t—I can’t. It’s too much. It’s too—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head and she moves without thinking, wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him towards her tightly. He holds her closely, burying his face in her neck, and she squeezes him twice, waits for him to return it. He does, and she exhales a breath of relief she did not realize she was holding in. She runs her hand up and down his back, settles it in his hair, and he squeezes her once more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so sorry, Percy,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head and she can feel his tears running down her neck but no part of her can begin to care, not when he’s in her arms like this. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“S’not—you,” he sniffles. “Well—a little.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She huffs out a half-laugh and he brushes his nose against her skin and she freezes as his lips follow and settle against the nape of her neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry I’m—crying on you,” he mutters, and she shakes her head and tugs on his hair gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can cry all you want,” she tells him honestly, and he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulls away from her, wiping at his face with the crook of his elbow, and she lets her hands fall to her sides, not trusting herself not to do something terribly stupid. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You want—tea?” he asks her, sniffling a bit, and she wants to cry and laugh and knock the damn pot off the stove.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She settles for laughter, though it is weak even to her own ears.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re so—” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She heaves out an exasperated breath through her nose, and he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve-covered hand. She wants to tell him that he is infuriating, that everything he has ever done has been for everyone except himself, that there is no one on Earth who deserves the horrible things that have happened to him less than he does. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he is sniffling and his face is wet and despite his height he looks small and far too vulnerable, and she cannot bring herself to do anything but nod.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I’ll have some,” she mutters, and he drops two bags into the pot. “Lemon and honey?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A tiny smile plays at his lips as he moves to his fridge and grabs a lemon half, then pulls a bottle of honey from his cupboard. She does not know why that is the moment she breaks, why after all this time, she loses herself the second he shows her the items. She is so overwhelmed with emotion that she cannot stop herself as she holds his face in her hands and presses her forehead to his.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so in love with you,” she whispers before she can convince herself out of it. “I’m so in love with you and it’s fucking torture.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She watches as he squeezes his eyes shut tight and presses his forehead harder into hers, so hard it's painful. She thinks for a moment he might move closer, might tilt his head just so, brush her lips with his own, but he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re right,” he tells her. “It hurts.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes her left hand in his right one and presses it against his chest, over his heart, firmly. He puts pressure on it once, twice, and digs his fingers into her skin. She pushes down on the spot the same way and he lets out a sound so broken and feeble that she thinks for a moment her heart has shattered in her chest, that she will never feel a pain so unbearable, so devastating, ever again. That it will not leave her for as long as she must live with it. Through it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Time,” he croaks, and she lets her tears fall down her cheeks freely, does not try to stop them any longer. “We just—we need—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Time,” she whispers back, nodding against his head. “Time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pulls back from him suddenly, before she loses her strength, and presses a kiss to his forehead, clenches his shirt in her fist. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Time,” she repeats into his hairline, kissing him once more, and he nods. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stands up straight and cups her freckled cheek in his scarred hand and their eyes meet, grey on green, surrounded in rings of red. She thinks back to coffee cups and scones she did not need to ask for, a curse at a stranger turned to a term of endearment, a stuttering admission ending here, now, while they cling to whatever is left. Whatever they can. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She holds his stubbly cheeks in her hands and presses her thumbs beneath his eyes three times. Three times he squeezes her wrists back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knows, then, that it is time to go. She knows she cannot stay any longer, cannot give in to her every sense screaming at her to plant her feet and refuse to leave him. And the look in his eyes tells her, without a single word, without even a tap or a squeeze or a blink, that he knows it, too. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He walks her to the door and holds her arm steady while she tries to get her shoes on and in an instant she is certain she will never give up on their time, no matter how long it might be. He tugs on her sleeve twice and she smiles despite the awful aching in her chest, because she knows him, and he will not give up either.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Three times is love, she thinks, but so is two. And she has been tapping that rhythm against his skin since he walked her down a beach as summer turned to autumn, a gift clutched in her hand like a lifeline. Since before she ever knew what it meant.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So it’s easy, natural, to tug right back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is taking his time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s what he said he would do, and what he needs, so he is doing it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s staying with Grover and Juniper in Long Island for the week as they work on the finishing touches for their presentation, the one they will be giving in less than two weeks’ time to fight for the well-being of Jackie and all the other creatures like her who require open space to heal. Percy’s father signed onto the proposal as soon as Grover presented it to him, without a second thought, and he will be at the board meeting when Percy and Grover and a few other vets and techs plead their case. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is not looking forward to it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels no gratitude towards his father for his support, as he knows the only reason he is actually doing it is that it aligns with his interests. Grover made the point that if his father helped the rescue center connect with the sanctuary in Canada, his range of influence would continue to expand up the northeastern coast of both countries. He is not in it for the sake of helping anyone but himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Percy is not concerned with him. Not one bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway, I think we should start with Jackie’s story,” Grover says as he munches on dried seaweed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They are sitting on the couch that has been serving as Percy’s bed for the past few days, hunched over the small coffee table in Grover’s living room. Juniper is busy in the small kitchen down the hall, tweaking her vegan brownie recipe that Percy is truly not looking forward to trying after last night’s chocolate chip cookies. But he cannot deny how much he loves it here, even if the kitchen always smells like hemp milk and nutritional yeast, because it's them, all of them, scattered and thrown about every inch of the space.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think so too,” Percy agrees, grinning when he sees the seaweed stuck in his friend’s teeth. “You look—beautiful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover rolls his eyes and starts digging between his teeth with his finger.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gross, Grover!” Percy exclaims, smacking his hand away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well don’t make fun of me and then complain when I try to fix the problem!” Grover defends. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy gags as Grover successfully extracts what he was looking for and Grover sticks his hand in Percy’s face. They wrestle around on the couch, Grover yelling about how Percy’s two working legs are an unfair advantage until Juniper comes in and scolds them, shoving Percy aside to sit down between them. Her belly has the tiniest bump, the beginnings of the life she and Grover are continuing to build together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please do not fight in front of the baby,” she says, leaning back into the couch, her auburn hair falling around her shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover beams, leaning over and kissing her belly, and Percy feels his heart twist in his chest as she cards her fingers through her partner’s tight curls. They are the most sickeningly adorable couple Percy has the good fortune to know, and the most compatible. Percy thinks it must be fate that brought together the only two people in the world who started community composting centers in their neighborhoods before they made it to second grade. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fate and a carpool, </em>Grover would say. Lovesick fool.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy cannot deny the nagging in his gut that tells him he is just as disgusting as his best friend. Because he wants that. He wants what they have, wants to love someone with everything he has, wants to feel that love given back to him. And it’s fucking awful, because there is a massive part of him that is terrified he will never be so lucky. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There will always be something to get in the way, on his part or theirs. He will never have the chance to come home to his person, the one who knows him better than he knows himself, who <em>he </em>knows better than he knows himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because she is too afraid to try.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For whatever reason, she cannot try, at least not yet, and he doesn’t know if she will ever be able to. And everything he wants, everything he’s been raised to believe—it’s all wrong, isn’t it? Because sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes the person you love isn’t ready for you, sometimes you are not ready for them, and no matter how strongly you feel, how deeply you ache for them, that will not change. Not unless you give them time. Not unless you take your own.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Juniper reaches out and tugs Percy down to her shoulder, wrapping her arm around his neck, and he sighs sadly through his nose. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Smells like dirt,” he mutters quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was in the garden earlier,” she explains. “Thank you for your honesty.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles the tiniest bit and glances at Grover, who is still resting his head on his partner’s belly, cooing at it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doesn’t even have—ears yet,” Percy mumbles to her, and she grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I actually believe our child contains the soul of Mother Earth and their ability to hear transcends physical necessity,” she tells him, and he gapes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuckin’ hippies,” he grumbles, and she whacks him on the side of the head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey! Scar!” he complains, and Juniper shakes her head at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are very rude, Percy Jackson,” she informs him sternly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the matter lovebug?” Grover asks, sitting up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“June hurt me,” Percy complains, and Grover gapes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Obviously I was talking to the love of my life”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I answered.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover’s mouth twitches and Percy knows for a fact that he is doing his best not to give his friend the satisfaction of his amusement. But then Juniper snorts loudly and smacks her hand over her mouth as if she cannot believe she made such a sound, and the three of them sink into their seats in a fit of laughter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The timer of the oven goes off and Juniper shoots up with far more energy than someone so small should be able to contain. Percy stretches out on the sofa and rests his head on Grover’s knee, and his friend pats his head as if he is a dog.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you told anyone you’re out here looking for a place, yet?” Grover asks quietly, and Percy exhales heavily through his nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel,” he says. “My mom…I told her we have to talk. It’s important. I think she knows.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sally knows everything.” Grover pauses, then. “You should call her, Perce.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knows Grover is not referring to his mother, and he feels himself tense up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I said everything,” he mutters. “I said it. I don’t—what else can I do?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe have a real conversation with her now that you’ve both had time to process.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy frowns and does his best not to think about what has transpired between himself and his best friend. What he said to her after he'd learned what she'd done, what Percy realized has been simmering and bubbling under the surface of their relationship for so long he’s surprised it didn’t come out sooner.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After his conversation with Annabeth last Wednesday, Percy realized two things. Firstly, he is head over heels in love with a woman who might never allow herself to be with him. Secondly, Clarisse has let him down in a way he never thought she would. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d gone over to her apartment on Friday, after telling her he would be taking off on Thursday. It wasn’t a lie, but he did not tell her he was taking off to avoid being alone with her. She must have sensed something was wrong then and there because she hounded him with so many questions he thought she might just come to his apartment and drag him to work herself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gave himself time to calm down, waited until he knew Reyna would be at the gym and Clarisse would be home from work. Once he arrived at their apartment Clarisse had barely been able to open the door before he spoke up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanna know—what you said. To Beth. Exactly,” he had told her, and her eyes widened in surprise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come in,” she’d said quietly. “Sit down with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He did as she said, and then she told him everything. Told him all that he needed to hear—that even after all this time, after years of leaning on each other, after everything she helped him through, she still does not believe in him. She still does not think he has learned enough to see past his disability, to accept himself and to let himself live a full life. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d broken his fucking heart.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d stood afterward, felt not anger, but disappointment, a deep-seated sadness that has not left him since. Since he found out how she sees him, even now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The problem,” he’d begun, “is—<em>you</em>. Even after so long—after <em>years</em>, you still—you think I’m still—scared. You think I need you to—to take care of me. I’m not upset anymore, Rue. I’m not. I don’t—think like you do. I don’t think how I used to. I grew, I learned, I—<em>you </em>taught me how. You taught me everything.” His voice had cracked, then, and his vision had gone blurry, but he forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. “But you don’t believe in me. You don’t. If—if you did, then—you wouldn’t—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shook his head, looked away because could not stand to see the pain on her face that matched his own.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You must—you probably think really—low. Of me. If—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d clenched his teeth to stop his jaw from trembling and rubbed at his eyes with the balls of his hands. They came down from his face wet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to worry—anymore. I’m going. So—you can stop, now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want you to stop.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d said it with enough finality to freeze Clarisse in her tracks, surprising even himself. He meant it then, and he still does. But he knows too that there was a message layered beneath it, one that went unspoken. He did not—does not—mean <em>that</em>. But if he had stayed for a second longer, if he had to see the utter hurt and disbelief on her face for another moment, he thought his chest might cave in. So he grabbed his coat, and he left. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubs at his eyes and tries to forget that awful look on her face as Grover pulls gently on his hair. He cannot for the life of him understand how, of all the people in the world that could have let him down, it was her. Clarisse, who had reminded him of all that he was worth. Clarisse, who had been the first stranger outside of a hospital Percy had run into. The perfect catalyst for all his fears and insecurities, the worst situation he could imagine for himself come to life. A moment of clumsy limbs and a heavy tongue leading into an explosion, every worry he ever carried becoming a reality in an instant. And then—relief. He’d done it, hadn’t he? He’d gotten through the very thing that had been eating at him for six months, and on the other side he’d found more love, more family. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy has not questioned his worthiness, his value, <em>himself</em>, in years. Not to the point where it held him back, at least. Not to the point where it caused him any harm. And there is nothing wrong, he knows, with feeling any of the things he used to, except for the fact that it hurt him. He's had his moments, and he still has his moments, but he knows better now. Just because he may feel weak, that does not mean he <em>is.</em> Just because he may feel insecure, that does not mean there is anything he <em>should</em> feel insecure about. None of it makes him more or less worthy, none of it changes the fact that he is who he is and he is valued and cherished and loved. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What hurts the most, he thinks, is that he only ever reached this point with her by his side. But she is convinced that this is all he will ever be—damaged, insecure, afraid. Maybe she just doesn’t believe he will ever be more than what has happened to him. Maybe she doesn't believe in him, period.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Why doesn’t she believe in him?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think the move will be really good for you, Perce,” Grover mutters. “You’re ready for this. You’re ready to live on your own terms.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rue,” he croaks, his closed eyes nearly spilling over. “She—she doesn’t think so.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarisse is a nutcase,” Grover says plainly, and Percy half-laughs. It makes his chest ache. “She’s way too overprotective. She loves you too much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He will not say what is really on his mind, the one thing that stings more than anything. That if she loved him, she would know him better. She would understand. That loving someone too much is not an excuse to hurt them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Juniper returns with a plate full of brownies that smell like anything but chocolate, and Percy sits up, ready to be present with two people who have never once doubted him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Later, he falls asleep on that very couch mourning the loss of two others, two more people he truly loves. Despite the bright future Grover promises him is ahead, the one he is building with each new space he visits, each step he takes towards tomorrow, he feels his world shrink around him, his sky already caving in. He fears he may not be strong enough to hold it steady when it comes crashing down upon his shoulders. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A few things this time around:<br/>-Sorry for taking longer than usual to update! Tragically sometimes you spend so long reading the same thing over and over again that it becomes Evil and Horrible and so you erase everything and start from scratch (oops). Hopefully I did not make it worse than it was before (also oops). But we’re back babey (as is Nawra)!<br/>-Fair warning, this is a beast of a chapter. I have written long chapters before, but this one really takes the cake at over 16k, and it is also the densest content-wise, so brace yourselves friends<br/>-Chapter contains vague references to past trauma<br/>As always, thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now more than ever, Annabeth is incredibly grateful she decided to skip out on a New Year’s resolution and stick with Hazel’s intention idea instead. In the past, she always set rather lofty goals for herself—become the next Frank Lloyd Wright, medal in the Olympics, don’t be such a raging bitch all the time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s only ever succeeded in one of those. She’s still working on the rest.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Despite her lack of a resolution, she tries to remind herself of that last goal as the two men in front of her stroll down the busy sidewalk as if they have all the time in the world. </span> <span class="s1">Annabeth is so close to shoving them out of her way and into the street that she has to physically resist the pull of her muscles screaming at her to just <em>do it</em> already. She settles for a gruff <em>excuse me</em> and skirts around them impatiently, then finally sees her clear path towards the cafe doors.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s running terribly late. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d like to blame her therapist, but really it was Annabeth who had held up the session, finally showing some real sign of emotion for the first time in five months. Her therapist had been so shocked at the mistiness of her eyes that she’d forgotten about the time completely, and they went a full 20 minutes over. It wasn’t even that sensitive a topic, really—Annabeth had suddenly remembered her childhood dog, a chocolate lab with pale green eyes and the softest fur on earth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She couldn’t explain <em>why </em>she’d thought of Ody in that moment, couldn’t explain why her reaction was so visceral, so immediate. She just missed him. He was the best part of her childhood, and she missed him, and all she wanted to do was sit on that damn couch and cry about it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alright. Maybe it wasn’t about the dog. But that, Annabeth has decided, is neither here nor there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Annabeth finally makes it into the cafe she spots Nawra immediately. She’s at their usual table at the back window, wearing giant, bright pink headphones and bopping her head like she’s having the time of her life. Annabeth’s bad mood gets washed away by the grin that grows on her face at the sight of her interviewer, and she decides she should skip her coffee so as not to make her tardiness any worse. When she gets to the table she sees that Nawra seems to be having a full-blown concert all on her own, her eyes closed as she plays air-drums and head-bangs so hard her glasses almost fly off her face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She only opens her eyes to catch them before they swing off her nose, and when she sees Annabeth in front of her they widen in shock and she rips the headphones off, her cheeks turning a deep red beneath her bronze skin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About time you showed up,” she says, clearing her throat. “I thought you ditched me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles apologetically and takes her seat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, my appointment ran later than I expected. Should I give you a moment for your encore?” Annabeth shoots back, grinning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra scowls.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t get to make fun of me, you—you—tardypants.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth slaps her hand over her mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Tardypants</em>—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, tardypants. Pants that are tardy. Leave me alone. Kill me. Oh, God.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She buries her face in her arms on the table before her, and Annabeth tries to laugh as quietly as possible; she doesn’t want to embarrass the poor kid any further.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s on the agenda today?” Annabeth asks to change the subject.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Luffaftolpis,” Nawra mumbles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily and lifts her head to look at Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Life after the Olympics,” she says more clearly, and Annabeth nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, like, now?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra nods and scratches at her forehead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we start today over again? I’m kind of in a...weird shitty rut,” she mutters, looking down at the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth softens.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course we can. You want me to go grab a coffee and then when I come back we’ll have a redo?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That would be helpful, thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth pats the younger girl’s hand reassuringly and hops on the short line to get her coffee. She worries about Nawra for a few moments, hopes that everything is alright with her, that she is safe and healthy and well. She doesn’t really know when it happened but at some point, she started to feel rather protective of the young girl, if only for the fact that she is young and a girl and needs Annabeth’s help. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knows it’s more than that though—somehow, some way, the whacky kid elbowed her way into the recesses of Annabeth’s mind, stomped on in with her damn combat boots that are <em>always </em>untied and her nonexistent attention span. As much as she is out of her damn mind, Nawra is actually rather endearing, and Annabeth would hate it if she ever came to any harm. She may also be willing to kill anyone who ever put the poor kid in harm’s way in the first place.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That might be her bad mood from earlier talking, though.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once Annabeth has her coffee she heads back over to the table where Nawra is sitting with perfect posture, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She nods at Annabeth once, shutting her eyes, and Annabeth grins and takes her seat across from her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning, Miss Chase,” Nawra says in a professional tone, and Annabeth nearly spits out her coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, nobody’s called me that in…ever,” Annabeth responds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m a professional, madam,” Nawra insists, then flips open her notebook. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes light up and her face brightens.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aw, fuck yeah, I forgot about this question,” she exclaims excitedly, and Annabeth tries to bite back her grin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra smiles to herself and nods her head, then catches Annabeth’s eye and clears her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please excuse my outburst, that was the child in me talking.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we cut the fake professional nonsense and get to it, please?” Annabeth says, and Nawra frowns and knits her eyebrows. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not fake professional nonsense,” Nawra defends, and Annabeth is surprised by how upset the younger girl suddenly seems. “I have to be mature about this. Diligent. Um…professional.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows in confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But before—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Before I was a wreck!” Nawra exclaims. “I literally broke ethical codes to get you to do the interview, I used inappropriate language and I was—I was—a dumb fuckin’ bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a shaky breath, then begins speaking so fast Annabeth can hardly keep up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And, well, I can’t be anymore. Because my advisor is really mean to me and my dad wants me to be a butcher and I’m one of the only kids on a scholarship at this stupid rich-bitch STEM school and if the only way to get the hell out of this stupid city is to literally become a gross ugly professional robot then I will <em>fucking do it</em>. So I’m doing it, okay? I am a robot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth gapes at Nawra, not really sure what to say to her, and the younger girl takes a deep breath as her shoulders fall.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nawra—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to say anything. It’s not…sometimes there’s just nothing to say. So…it’s fine. It’ll be fine. I just have to get through this interview properly, without messing up or getting distracted, and everything will be—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine?” Annabeth suggests, and Nawra nods, inhaling heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Exactly, glad you’re keeping up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth knits her eyebrows, looking over the younger girl, her heart aching for the poor kid. She remembers what it was like to be 15 and under all the pressure in the world, being forced to maintain a million different versions of herself, to make everyone else happy, to prove herself worthy. She wishes that Nawra could be relieved of her burden in any way, really, but none of it is in Annabeth’s control. And that fucking sucks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, let’s be professionals,” Annabeth says, straightening her posture, and Nawra’s eyebrows raise hopefully. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, for real?” she asks, then straightens. “I mean, yes, of course. Let’s begin.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins and Nawra takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Miss Chase, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Likewise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In the past, we’ve discussed your training leading up to the Olympics and the events themselves, but today I’d like to focus on what happened after the fact. How did you go about living your life once the Olympics were over, and you were sure you’d never compete again?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excellent question, Miss…um…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Abdullah</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra uses the back of her throat to make a rather guttural sound and somehow rolls her L and Annabeth has never felt whiter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I simply cannot make that sound and I am so sorry…Miss Abdullah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra grins fully for the first time the entire day.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Quite alright, Miss Chase, it happens all the time. We do not have the same vocal cords. Please continue.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth does her best not to laugh and they talk through nearly everything—Annabeth going back to school (she rambles on for ages), cutting ties with her former coach (she doesn’t say it was her mother, and Nawra doesn’t ask), the small stint she did as a spokesperson for IcyHot (she’d forgotten about it entirely until Nawra brought out the old commercials). They get through nearly the entire interview and only get sidetracked once by a few other embarrassing endorsements. Annabeth is stiff and uncomfortable in nearly all of them, and she cannot for the life of her understand why anyone would have wanted her representing their brand when it seemed like she constantly had a stick up her ass.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As they watch her infamously cringe-worthy Audi commercial, Annabeth finds herself amazed at how far she has come, everything that happened between shooting that ad and this very moment, here and now. How could she have ever predicted the way her life would end up, how could she have foreseen the future she is living now?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth doesn’t realize that she is smiling until the video ends and Nawra asks her the next question, breaking her out of her reverie. She clears her throat and asks Nawra to repeat herself and the younger girl narrows her eyes slightly, but does as she was asked. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I asked what it’s like for you now, working a regular job, going about your life after everything,” Nawra says, and Annabeth takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s…everything I’ve ever wanted, kind of,” Annabeth says, surprising herself with the words.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it’s true, she realizes. For nearly her entire life she dreamed of becoming an architect, making her mark on the world one building at a time; she’s doing that. After meeting Piper she knew she wanted to keep her best friend in her life at all costs; she’s done that. At a certain point, she decided she never wanted anything to do with her old life again, never wanted to go back to competing or training or any of the things that held her captive for so long; maybe she went about it the wrong way, but she’s managed that, too. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She <em>has </em>gotten what she wanted, she <em>has </em>lived a full life in the time since her fall, despite all the bullshit that came along with it. Despite her injury, despite her learning disabilities, despite her fears, she is here. And she thinks—she <em>knows</em>—it is about time she started to give herself more credit. About time she finally let go of the part of her that’s tucked deep at the back of her mind, the nagging that says she is nothing if she is not <em>everything</em>. She doesn’t have to be, anymore. She can let go now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tries to put it to words in a way that makes sense, but she comes up short.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know how to describe it,” she says slowly, the gears of her mind still turning. “It’s like…I spent the first half of my life convincing myself I wanted this one thing, and the second half fighting to break out of it. And I did. I got out. But that part of me that worked for all those years doing the convincing…it still has power, to some degree. It’s still there, still…nagging, trying to tell me that I need to be the best, that I need to compete to be worth something. It’s just…part of it is pride, but the other part is just something that needs to be unlearned. And I think instead of unlearning it, I tried to ignore it. But that never made it go away, you know? I should’ve addressed it, from the beginning. I just never knew how to deal with something that felt so much bigger than me. Out of my control.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows, forgetting herself, and looks up to find Nawra looking at her thoughtfully. She feels her face heat up and she clears her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” Annabeth says. “That’s all to say—my life now is everything I dreamed it would be, once I finally realized I could build a dream for myself outside of the Olympics. It’s what I always wanted, but never thought I deserved, I guess. So, yeah, it’s stressful, and yeah it’s not gonna win me any gold medals, but…it’s <em>good</em>. It’s good in all the ways that matter, and that’s more than I ever could have hoped for.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra’s lower lip trembles slightly as she nods. She coughs slightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, Miss Chase, that was a wonderful answer,” she says, her voice wobbling a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth is surprised when the timer on Nawra’s phone goes off, indicating that their time together is up. Nawra slumps over onto the table and exhales heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God, could you try to break my heart a little <em>less</em> next time please?” she says, burying her face in her arms. “I’m so emo right now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth winces a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, and Nawra sits up straight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do not apologize, what the fuck? That was, like—that was wow. That’s gonna be a pull quote for sure.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins a bit and Nawra sighs heavily, slouching in her chair as she rubs at her face beneath her glasses.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That <em>sucked</em>,” she breathes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought you did really well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, no, I was incredible,” Nawra says, sitting up, and Annabeth grins. “I just meant that I hated every second of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, I’ve done about a thousand interviews and at least half of them were a million times worse than ours usually go. And those people were paid.” A ghost of a smile plays on Nawra’s lips, and Annabeth grins. “You’ve been doing great, professionalism or not. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra scrunches up her nose and rests her chin on her interlocked fists.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why does everyone keep saying that?” she mutters, looking down at the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Probably because it’s true,” Annabeth tells her. “I’ve learned that if more than one person notices something is up with you, especially the ones who know you well, they’re probably right, and you should listen to them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess,” she mutters. “I’ll try.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great. How?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra knits her eyebrows in confusion and sits up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” she asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How will you try? What’s one thing you’ll do differently?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She blinks a few times.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. I don’t know,” she admits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, let’s start somewhere easy. How do you talk to yourself in your head? Are you mean, kind, neutral, what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I’m terrible to myself,” Nawra says, and Annabeth is certain she looks as worried as she feels because Nawra rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, I try to counterbalance it with like, super aggressive pep talks,” Nawra says. “Like, if I feel weird about how I look I’ll call myself a dumb beautiful bitch with no sense and a fat ass. Stuff like that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth’s eyes widen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit, we <em>are </em>the same,” she whispers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra brightens.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do that too?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“All the time. It’s the only way I listen.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Twins,” Nawra whispers reverently. “Brain sisters.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus,” Annabeth mutters to herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean, maybe!” Nawra exclaims. “Who’s to say he doesn’t have something to do with it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nearly spits out her coffee and Nawra shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>AstughferAllah</em>, <em>astughferAllah.</em> God, I am so sorry,” she says under her breath, and Annabeth bites her lip hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra looks at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? You think it wasn’t fate that had me crave a frozen coffee and drop into that random café when I was running late for class? And that <em>you </em>just so happened to be there at the same time? And then the <em>park</em>? With Percy Jackson of all people? You really think that was just a coincidence?” Nawra says, and Annabeth does not know how to tell the girl across from her that the only thing she believes in is her stupid little brain making its stupid little choices.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know how to explain it,” Annabeth says. “Don’t you think the universe is too big for fate to care about something as small as me or you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think it’s the opposite. I think fate’s what takes care of the tiny insignificant things like us so the infinite universe doesn’t crush us to bits.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth blinks at her. She’s never really thought about it that way. It seems upside down to her, but she can’t deny that it’s an almost comforting idea.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm,” Annabeth hums and sips her coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm,” Nawra agrees, then glances over her shoulder at the door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both look to find Percy, who gives them a tiny wave and nods his head over to the drink line. Annabeth takes it as her cue to leave and starts to stand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Annabeth?” Nawra asks, and Annabeth looks at her as she pulls on her coat. “I, um…when we were doing the interview in the beginning, and you said all that stuff about your injury, like, learning to deal with it or whatever…I’m sorry you went through that. I mean, it sounds like your entire life revolved around this one thing, and then suddenly it was just…taken away from you. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth swallows, surprised at Nawra’s words. There was no way she was ever going to give the younger girl any real detail about what happened to her, the way she actually lost her ability to compete forever, so she feels a bit guilty for misleading her. But at the end of the day, the competition <em>was </em>what her life revolved around, and it <em>was </em>a massive part of her, no matter how she felt about it. She was never prepared for what would actually happen after she stopped competing, no way she could know that she would miss it as much as she did, regret her choice as she had. But she is here, now, and she has learned, and she is still learning. And she’s better for it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, Nawra,” she says quietly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry I didn’t say it sooner. Got a little caught up in the whole keeping on track thing.” She pauses. “No pun intended.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth grins and waves her hand dismissively.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t worry about it. See you next week?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Nawra nods and Annabeth gives the girl a small smile as she heads out. </span> <span class="s1">Somehow she manages to make it outside without running into Percy, although as he waits for his drink he catches her eye and offers her a gentle smile. She does not understand how being so near to him physically hurts but every fiber of her being is screaming in relief simultaneously. She misses him, and he’s <em>right there</em>, and her chest is going to explode, and he’s <em>right fucking there</em>. It’s making her sick.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The best she can do is smile back, try to return what he gives. One little step at a time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she starts her trek home she thinks back to her interview with Nawra, to dreams and goals and resolutions and what her teenage self might think about where she is now. She remembers a rooftop at the end of summer and a beach in the fall, a friend’s apartment and a boss’s office and slapjack and a countdown and she knows with absolute certainty that of all the ways her life could have gone, she could not be more grateful that it took this route. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All that’s left to do now is try her best to stay the course.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy steps into his mother’s apartment cautiously, more careful than he’s been since he had someone else to worry about bothering. Where he is usually loud, bursting through the door and yelling her name, he remains as quiet as can be, afraid to make a sound. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s sitting at her little table facing the door anyway, and he is caught.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Sabah al-khair</em>, Mama,” he says quietly, shutting the door behind him gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Sabah al-noor, ya qalbi</em>,” she responds, cradling her cup of tea against her chest. “I made <em>shai</em>. Have a cup.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs as he toes off his shoes and pours himself some tea, adds four teaspoons of sugar and grabs a sleeve of tea biscuits from the cabinet above the stove. The layout of his mother’s apartment resembles his so much that he wakes up sometimes and forgets he will not find her boiling tea in the kitchen, humming as she sews in the living room; it’s why he forgets that her tiny island counter is shorter than his and shoves his hip out to the left to avoid an edge that is 3 inches out of his way, spilling the hot tea on his scarred hand. His mother winces in sympathy and he grabs some napkins to wipe it off, groaning. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, <em>hayati</em>?” she asks from the table, and he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine. Gimme—yeah.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a few grounding breaths, tries to remind himself that he is here with his mother, that there is nothing to be afraid of, that she will understand. He heads back to her tiny table, so similar to his own, and he opens the pack of biscuits, offers her one. She shakes her head and he exhales through his nose, dips it into his <em>shai</em> for a few seconds before he takes a bite.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess—English, today,” he says, and she nods once.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think so,” she responds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They share the silence for a few beats and the room is peaceful, warm in the early morning glow of the sun pouring in through her living room windows, lighting up her half-painted nightmare walls that she still has not fixed. He likes it better this way, if only because the chaos is welcome among the order. Sally Jackson is nothing if not neat and tidy and entirely perfect despite her messy walls and nonsense pantry organization and many flaws. She is a million contradictions and she is the only stable, steady thing Percy has ever had from the moment he was born. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he cannot look her in the eye.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You spoke to him, didn’t you?” she says quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her tone is neither accusatory nor judgmental—just soft, questioning in the concerned and caring way only she can ever perfect. He swallows his soggy bite of biscuit and sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’d you know?” he mutters, still staring at his cup of tea.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glances up at her to find her smiling a soft thing, loving and warm and <em>her</em>, and she reaches across the table to brush his hair back from his forehead and tap the center of it twice. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I raised you, <em>hayati</em>. I’ve known you since before you were even born,” she says gently. “And I know that’s not all you have to tell me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t—see him,” he feels the need to explain. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is no reason to justify himself, and she did not ask him to. But maybe he needs to say it out loud for his own sake. To assure himself it is the right thing to do.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not yet,” he adds quietly. “I just asked.” He knits his eyebrows and frowns down at the last bite of biscuit in his hand. “Maybe—it’s stupid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His mother taps the corner of his eye once and he looks up at her to find that her face is set in determination.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is not stupid,” she says, pronouncing every syllable so clearly and so intentionally that it makes Percy pause. “You thought it was right, and that’s all that matters. If you need to talk to him, talk to him. If you need to see him, see him. It’s nobody’s business but yours, <em>habibi</em>. You know what’s best.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and nods, surprised to find himself suddenly misty-eyed. She brushes her thumb beneath his eye despite the fact that his tears have not yet fallen and he wants, more than anything, to be four years old on an old spring mattress curled up next to her for warmth. Before their lives became what it is now. Before everything that ever passed between them could weigh so heavily upon their shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it doesn’t make a difference to her. There is not a single thing that she has ever blamed him for, not a single moment she has ever faulted him, resented him, felt anything but love and love and love. Showed anything but love. He has no idea where she finds the patience, the strength. He doesn’t think he deserves it, not one little bit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m—leaving,” he says, his voice thick, and she nods, a sad smile on her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” she tells him softly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes well up and the tears fall in the place her thumb used to rest and he wishes he was someone, anyone else. Someone better, just for her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you—is it—are you upset? At me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head firmly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course not, Percy, I could never be upset with you for this,” she tells him. “You have to do what you have to do. Just like before—only you know what’s best.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and as his eyes fall on his left hand he remembers a hospital bed and a chef’s knife cutting through bone and every single ounce of fear in her eyes that followed in the moments after. How he could not stand to see that fear there, how it drove him mad, made him turn every bit of anger he felt inwards, turned everything so bitter and rotten that he became bitter and rotten himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The real, selfish reason he commutes—so that he will not have to see that fear ever again, will not have to feel that rage pounding in his chest and twisting up his stomach until there is nothing left to do but <em>hate</em> himself, with every fiber of his being. He could not stand it, and he cannot stand it, so he commutes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, he used to commute. But it’s time to move on from that, now. Time to try, to heal, to grow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, Mama,” he cries, feeling every burden he has ever forced upon her shoulders in a single moment, and she shakes her head firmly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have nothing to apologize for,” she tells him, and he breaks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A horrible sob wracks through his body and she is next to him in an instant, holding his head against her shoulder, wrapping a firm arm around his torso. Grounding him always, even when he is meant to be the strong one. Even when he is meant to be comforting her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is nothing in the world heavier than the guilt that has rested upon his back since the moment he learned the true extent of what she dealt with for his sake. There is nothing in the world harder than recognizing that he can no longer blame himself just for being born, that all the work he’s ever done to remind himself of his worth means nothing if he cannot forgive himself for the mere act of existing. If he cannot stop thinking of himself as a burden to her, to the one person in the world he is certain will love him always, unconditionally, no matter the price. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s trying. He tries every day. Today, though, in this moment, it feels as though he has not taken a single step forward his entire life. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I need you to listen to me,” she says firmly once she’s let him cry a bit. “Can you do that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods and she releases him only to take hold of him once more, his face cradled between her hands firmly, steadily. Her dark eyes are sharp and serious, the way they used to look before she gave him a stern talking-to if he got in trouble at school, when they would get trapped in a tug-of-war after his accident. He steels himself for it, waits as she searches his eyes, her gaze never leaving his.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have nothing to apologize for,” she tells him sternly. “You have never, ever had anything to apologize for. You have never, ever had anything to apologize for. Not when you were a kid, not after your accident, and not now.” He swallows hard. “Percy, <em>habibi</em>…you carry it with you, everywhere. You carry your guilt and you carry your anger and you keep them right here, tight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She makes a fist and presses into his abdomen, right below his sternum. Right where he feels two knots constantly melding into one, growing, tangling, settling. Making themselves comfortable in the spaces they have held since he was eight years old. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is struck again by the knowledge that she has known him all his life but he has only known her a little over half of hers. Maybe, he thinks, there is more to learn and know than what space he believes he might occupy in her mind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have to let it go, okay?” she continues. “You have to let it go, or it’s going to kill you. It almost killed you once before, and it will do it again if you let it. You can’t let that happen again. You can’t let it take up so much space that there’s no room left for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows hard as more tears stream down his face, and he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t—I don’t know how,” he croaks, and she nods, her own eyes misty. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll start here,” she says. “Now. With me. I don’t blame you for any of it, Percy. I don’t blame you for him, and I don’t blame you for your accident, and I don’t blame you for anything you felt after. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to get frustrated. You’re only human—you can only take so much. It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sees the way he is trembling more than feels it as his mother’s face blurs and moves but he is certain she is sitting steady as ever. He holds onto her hands on his face and squeezes her wrists and she pulls him back to her shoulder, runs her hands through his hair, down his back. He wraps his arms around her and hugs her as tightly as he can manage, and she returns it just the same. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you, Mama,” he cries into her shoulder. “<em>Ana b’hebeck</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Wa ana b’hebuck anta, hayati</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She loves him and he is her life and not a day has gone by that she has not made it known to him, not shown him exactly that, with her words or otherwise. Not a day goes by when he himself is not proof of that fact, proof of all the ways she loves him, in everything that he does. How did he learn to take care of Hazel, if not from his mother? How does he know to help his neighbors with their groceries, if not for her example? How did he ever begin to <em>taptaptap</em> his love onto the skin of anyone who might be willing to feel it, if not for her sending the first signal? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It is her, and it has always been her, right there beside him, unconditionally. No expectations, no judgment, no baggage. Just the two of them, the world around them meaningless except for what peace or joy or amusement it might be able to bring him. This is how his mother loves him: fully, presently, purposefully, like the rays of the morning sun falling upon his eyes and ensuring the first thing he feels upon waking to face the world is warmth, serenity. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After all she’s given him, all she continues to give him, doesn’t he owe it to her to try? For her sake, if for no one else’s? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you,” he repeats again, and he <em>squeeze squeeze squeezes</em> her <em>tight tight tight</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She kisses his temple three times and says it right back and he tries to picture a world in which she is not his mother and he is not her son. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hates every imaginary second of it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets some of the relief and gratitude he feels at the fact that she <em>is </em>his mother and he <em>is </em>her son wash away a tiny thread of guilt gnawing at his stomach.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can take it a thread at a time, he thinks. And he can do it just like this, with her by his side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you find a place yet?” she mutters, rubbing big circles onto his back, and he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“S’nice,” he mutters. “Close by Grover. Train’s—close.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. Big?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. I don’t like big.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels her smile into his skin and she kisses his temple once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” she mutters. “Lazy boy hates cleaning.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins for the first time all morning and pulls back from her, scrunching up his nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll pay you,” he tells her and she laughs hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re gonna need a thousand dollars to get me anywhere near Long Island, kid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pouts and she smiles softly and squeezes his cheeks in one of her hands, and he leans into her touch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How did you—do it?” Percy mumbles through his crushed lips, and she knits her eyebrows. “I don’t get it. How—how?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs and brushes his curls back once more and holds his chin, taps it with her thumb once.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I almost didn’t,” she admits quietly, and he knits his eyebrows. “Until you. You, Percy, you are the only reason, the only thing in the world that got me through it. You were always the only thing I ever cared about, and you are now. You gave my life purpose, <em>hayati</em>. <em>You</em> kept me strong. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But I—if it wasn’t—if I—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We don’t know that,” she says quietly. “We don’t know what comes after the ifs, Percy. We don’t know because the ifs never happened, and they don’t matter. What matters is <em>when</em>, past and present. And <em>when</em> you came into my life, it only ever got better. I need you to understand that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re—the only reason. Me, too, Mama,” he tells her honestly, and her misty eyes finally spill over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. I couldn’t have asked for a better son if I tried.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head and wipes at her tears for her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If doesn’t matter,” he repeats back to her, and she smiles the tiniest bit. “But—you could.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She frowns at him and squeezes his nose between her knuckles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Bas</em>,” she says sternly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Enough</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The word is spoken with such finality Percy can’t bring himself to argue, and he rests his forehead against her shoulder. He thinks that if he stays there long enough he will finally start to believe her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who else knows?” she asks quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About—him? Or moving?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Both.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nobody. Hazel and Grover.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. I won’t bring it up at lunch with Marie and Nico today, then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes widen as he pulls away from her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t tell Nico,” he begs her, and she grins. “He’s gonna kill me. He hates Long Island.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs a bit and they look at the far wall of her living room, Hazel’s painting of their family. Percy smiles a bit.<br/>“Gonna cover it?” he asks her, resting his cheek on her shoulder, and she sighs as her arm comes around his neck and she scratches at his hair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe. I need a good color, though,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe—blue.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The fourth one comes from behind them, and they both jump in their seats and turn around to find Hazel at the apartment entrance, toeing off her shoes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not allowed to have cute sentimental moments without me, you <em>know </em>that,” she complains, pulling a chair up next to them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy scrunches up his nose as Sally laughs and Hazel plops down on his free side and links her arm through his. She rests her head on his shoulder and it is the three of them together once more, as it’s been so many times before. Good things come in threes, Percy thinks, and for the first time he begins to truly understand one of the most important lessons Marie ever taught him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remembers it later, gathered around a table at her restaurant with his mother and Hazel and Will and Nico and Marie herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She has just finished a double shift and she seems to be running on empty, but she insisted that everyone come by anyway, because it’s been at least two months since they all gathered together like this. She brushes Hazel’s flyaways back from her forehead and brings them so many beignets Percy thinks his stomach will explode and Percy has missed her—missed <em>them</em>, their little family, his home—more than he realized. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He catches Marie’s eye across the table and smiles gratefully and she sends him a wink and a knowing smile and he is certain, not for the first time, that she can read his mind just as well as his own mother can. Just as well as Hazel can. Because they are family, and they know each other. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell us about your presentation to the board, Percy,” Marie prompts him, and Nico’s eyes widen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, you never said how it went,” he says. “Did they agree to consider it at least?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles the tiniest bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They voted. While we—they voted,” he tells them, and they all gape at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>What</em>?” Hazel and Will exclaim at the same time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hazel demands, and he glances at his mother.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A look of understanding passes over her face and she places her hand over his, sighs through her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He doesn’t want to talk about—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit-head,” Percy finishes for her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And his father is, objectively, a massive shit-head. He’d been at that meeting and stood before the board and droned on and on about <em>the right thing to do</em> and then followed it up with a plan to make the money they’d inevitably be losing on the transport back by pushing some stupid fucking ad scheme and changing their branding to become known as eco-activists. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy remembers the way Grover had pretended to gag behind all of their backs after he and Percy had delivered the most thorough, well-researched, passionate presentation of their lives and gotten a few awkward coughs and a polite <em>fuck off</em> from the board. One word from his father, though, and they all changed their tunes, voted unanimously to stop housing porpoises and other large sea creatures and electing Percy and Grover to oversee coordination with the Canadian sanctuary.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s actually kind of a huge deal, because, well—this means that Percy will get to travel back and forth for a while with his best friend, that he’s been promoted to kind of an important position, that he’ll be even more involved with helping his favorite animals heal and recover than he was before. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s big news. It’s great news. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy doesn’t know why he hasn’t told anyone. He doesn’t know why he stays quiet about it as they all look at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain himself. But he does. He stays quiet, and Nico gets this look on his face like he wants to murder him, and Percy stuffs a beignet into his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna kill him,” Nico declares, and Will places a calming hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Give him his time,” Will mutters, but his eyes flash just as murderously as Nico’s. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Forget that,” Hazel says. “Spill it, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All Marie has to do is raise a single eyebrow and Hazel is shrinking down into her seat, apologizing quietly. 24 and still afraid to cuss in front of her mother. As she should be. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Take your time, honey,” Marie tells him soothingly, and Sally rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Spit it out, <em>ya hmar</em>,” she demands, and his mother hasn’t called him a donkey in so long that it startles a laugh out of him, and he can’t find a reason not to share anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They said yes. They’re gonna do it,” Percy says, and his family applauds and praises and hugs him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Honestly, was that so hard?” Nico says grumpily, but there is an undeniable look of pride shining on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy sticks his tongue out at Nico, mushed up food and all, and Nico starts to rise out of his seat to fling himself across the table but Will pulls him back down. Marie reaches across Hazel and Sally and squeezes Percy’s hand hard. She nods once, scrunching up her nose and shutting her eyes, and he grins widely; no words necessary. Hazel imitates her mother, which earns her a swift whack on the head, but she just sighs and nestles herself into Marie’s side. Marie wraps her arm around her daughter and plants a kiss on her hairline and Percy juts out his lower lip and looks at his mom.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hold me,” he says and throws himself at her, and she heaves out a breath as he squeezes her around the middle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So clingy,” she remarks as she wraps her arms around his shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She plants a kiss on the top of his head and he sighs contentedly despite the insult. He looks over at Nico, then, to find his friend frowning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This isn’t fair, I want a mom to hug,” he complains, and Marie sticks her free arm out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nico immediately abandons Will and rushes over to her, shoving his boyfriend out of his way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, Nico—this is how you treat your fiancé?” Will grumbles, and everyone freezes at once.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is utter silence for two beats and then there is absolute chaos, screaming and yelling and hollering over each other at once. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Percy shouts along with them despite not processing a single word, outraged and baffled and absolutely overjoyed, he is once again struck by the realization that this, here, is exactly where he belongs. And he will not let himself forget it, ever again. Whether he is on Long Island or Manhattan or Brooklyn or fucking Neptune, these people will always be his home base.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the midst of the cacophony his mother taps out a rhythm on his shoulder that is anything but random and he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is moving in the right direction.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All he has to do now is face the person who helped him finally take the first step.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s thinking about her again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knows that maybe he shouldn’t be, at least not this morning, because he has a much more pressing issue on his hands, but he is. He’s thinking about her. And he misses her a little more than he can take, really.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy had known to expect to run into her on Nawra’s interview day—with the way their timings overlapped, it was inevitable. He’d done his best to avoid her (he hadn't), but in the end he couldn't ignore her, couldn't keep his eyes off of her long enough to get out unscathed. It was just a smile, one tiny little interaction held from afar, but it had been more than enough to throw him completely off-kilter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Seeing her had been the highlight of his month, and somehow the entire time they were in the same room there was a visceral, searing ache in his chest that would not leave him. He could not understand how he could feel such blissful relief and such excruciating pain simultaneously. But maybe that was the nature of the beast, the nature of what they had become: two people in love with nothing left to do but wait, and try, not for each other, but for themselves. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks about her the entire way to a different little coffee shop, up to the moment he walks in and sees the back of a familiar head and has only one thought: <em>fuck</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy stands frozen at the doors for longer than a few moments, taking in the sight before him. The same dirty blonde hair cut short and tame, the same broad shoulders set straight back, posture perfect as ever, the same large, tanned hands tapping and flicking and literally twiddling their thumbs. Percy is completely overwhelmed by the mere act of recognizing those old nervous ticks, by the familiarity of it all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d kind of been hoping he wouldn’t be able to recognize Adam at all. He’d wanted it to be a different face, a different way of carrying himself, a different person altogether. Because facing a stranger, the stranger who up and left, who abandoned him without a backward glance—that would be easier than facing the man Percy thought loved him just as much as he felt that love himself. But this could never be easy, Percy knows, stranger or otherwise. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He steels himself with a deep breath and takes off his hat, twists it around in his hands. And then he turns on his heel and nearly leaves the building altogether, but he knows—he <em>knows</em>—that the only way forward is through. So he decides to get himself a tea with lemon and honey instead. At the very least it will buy him some time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy doesn’t know exactly why he sent that nervous voice note at 3 a.m. Maybe it was the fact that it was 3 a.m. Maybe it was the change of scenery, the change of pace, being at Grover’s and taking those steps towards the life he wanted—needed—to begin building for himself. Maybe it was none of those things. The why doesn’t really matter, Percy supposes. The fact of the matter is that he’d tossed and turned all night, his brain moving about a million miles an hour, and he’d thought about Annabeth and Clarisse and all the people in his life he couldn’t bear to lose, and his mind settled on the one person he never lost at all, the person who left him on purpose. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As strange as it was, Percy was almost comforted by the fact that what had happened was completely out of his hands—he knows better now than to blame himself and his accident for what Adam did. It was never Percy’s fault; it was always Adam’s. And maybe it was that thought, and the total lack of anger or resentment or guilt that followed, that led him to search through his contacts and choose the string of poop-devil-snake emojis at the bottom of the list. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hadn’t even known if that was still his ex-boyfriend’s number. He’d just rambled and stuttered and tried to delete it, but sent it accidentally. And then he’d had to follow up with the apology, and the question, and the whole <em>if this isn’t you then I will probably die of embarrassment and also so sorry whoever you are </em>that was much less coherent and entirely mortifying. But he’d gotten a response back almost instantly, which shocked him, and now, here he is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Stupid bitch</em>, Percy thinks to himself once he gets his tea. He does hate himself sometimes, especially right now when there is nothing left to stop him from walking over to that table and seeing the person who broke his fucking heart, but, well—there’s nothing left to stop him, is there? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He settles for walking as slowly as he possibly can, taking his sweet time, and he really is milking the small distance for all it’s worth when the stupid asshole turns to look over his shoulder and catches Percy’s eye. They both freeze, staring at each other, and Percy feels his heart pounding in his chest so violently he thinks he might be having a heart attack. Because—because—his <em>eyes</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes, for all the years and space between them, have stayed exactly the same, have remained the sweet chocolately brown that always turned Percy to mush, that warmed Percy from his stomach and spread that warmth to every edge of him, that never failed to make him feel safe and loved and entirely enamored. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, though, there’s just—nothing. There is nothing, and Percy is so shocked by the total emptiness he feels at the sight of them that he cannot move a muscle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” Adam breathes in that smooth, silky baritone of his, and Percy snaps out of it, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clears his throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—hi,” he greets, and his legs finally start working again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He moves around the table and takes his seat across from the boy with the eyes that hold no power over him any longer and then they are sitting together, brown on green, with no words to say. Yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You go,” Percy says, and Adam nods and swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was just going to say you look really good, Percy,” he says, and Percy nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam looks like he can’t decide if he should smile or not and he settles for coughing a bit and taking a sip of the drink in front of him. Percy looks his face over, takes in the sharp angles of his cheekbones, his jaw, the straight line of his nose. He is, objectively, incredibly beautiful, but time seems to have robbed him of the gentle softness that used to exist on his face. Gone is the boyish smoothness of his chin and jawline; now he is older, a bit thinner, sharper. He could be a marble bust and Percy would not argue his beauty. But Percy was never really interested in any of that to begin with. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How have you been?” Adam asks, and Percy takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” he says, and he means it. “You?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam nods, fiddling with his coffee cup lid, his eyes trained on the spot where his hand bends the plastic. Another old quirk of his.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, good, I’ve been—” He shakes his head and looks up at Percy, then. “Listen, I was really glad you texted me. I should’ve—I know it’s something I should’ve done a long time ago, Percy. A really long time ago. And maybe it’s too late, maybe it doesn’t mean anything now, but I have to say it anyway, alright? I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what I did, for everything I put you through. So many times I’ve just regretted it and wished—I wanted to take it back, you know? But I can’t do that, now, and I won’t pretend like I can. So I just—I’m sorry. I’m really, truly so sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy takes a deep breath, then, exhaling through his nose. He is not surprised to find that he just does not care.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Percy says. “I don’t—it’s not why—” He shakes his head. “I don’t care. If you’re sorry. I didn’t text you because—I wanted you to say it. I don’t give a shit. It doesn’t matter.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam winces, and Percy realizes that his tone is a bit harsher than he intended.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s fair,” Adam says, and Percy shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I mean—I forgive you,” Percy clarifies, and Adam gapes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? <em>Why</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Three years is—a long time,” Percy tells him, and he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, that’s bullshit. That’s bullshit and you know it,” Adam insists. “You shouldn’t forgive me. Don’t forgive me. I don’t deserve it, you know I don’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy frowns at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not—you. I don’t care if—if you think so. It’s me. I need to do it. I need to move on. I don’t know how—I just.” He takes a deep breath. “I can’t be mad at you. Not anymore. I have to live my life. I have to go—shit. You know. In the front.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam knits his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Onward?” Percy grimaces and shakes his head. “Forwards?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy nods and waves his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. It’s not you. It’s me. So shut up and—let me say it.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam smiles the tiniest bit and does his best to hold himself back but Percy can’t stop his own grin, scratching at his nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go ahead,” Adam says, smiling a bit wider, and Percy takes a deep breath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I forgive you. Because of me. And I don’t care—why you did it. I don’t. I used to, a lot. It used to make me crazy. I don’t care anymore. And I don’t care if—you’re sorry. I’m not. I’m glad it happened. It’s better. <em>I’m </em>better. So…yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a long drink of his tea and Adam swallows and nods, looking down at his hands as he links them together and squeezes them hard, over and over. Despite everything, despite the change and the time and the betrayal, Percy feels the undeniable urge to reach out and place his hand over Adam’s, to squeeze them just once, to reassure him that there is nothing here to be afraid of. Nothing left to feel guilty about. He almost gives in, but then Adam looks up at him and nods once more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ve always been a better person than me,” Adam says, his voice thick, and Percy shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Being good—it doesn’t matter. It’s only what we do. How we act.” Percy shrugs. “Good people do bad things. Bad people do good things. It’s all—it’s just—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Grey,” Adam says, and Percy nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. It’s grey. And messy.” He almost smiles. “Fuzzy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like that piece of shit TV in my old apartment,” Adam says, and Percy grins a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That was not the fuzzy he was thinking of, but he nods nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmhmm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glances up to find Adam looking at him rather intently, his eyebrows knit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m really proud of you, Perce,” Adam tells him. “You’ve come so far. When I—you couldn’t walk or talk or anything. Look at you now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For the first time all day, Percy starts to feel angry, and he’s not afraid to let it show.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t get to be—proud of me. <em>You</em> didn’t do anything.” Adam looks down sheepishly. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t need you to—to be proud. I don’t want it, either.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” Adam apologizes, his voice small. “You’re right.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It makes whatever frustration is left leave in an instant. Because Percy knows it is not Adam he’s angry with. It is not Adam’s fault he struck a nerve that is open and raw and not fully healed yet. His intentions were good. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“S’okay,” Percy mutters. “Sorry I snapped.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You really don’t ever, ever have to apologize to me for anything. So just—don’t. Ever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy rolls his eyes and gives Adam a flat look. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just because you hurt me—it doesn’t mean I can do it back. Don’t do it. I hate it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam smiles a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, you always did,” he says and exhales heavily through his nose. “You haven’t changed much, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy looks pointedly from Adam’s restless hands to his eyes and they grin together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You either,” Percy tells him, and Adam laughs as Percy swats at his hands. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knows that Adam will move to sit on his hands before he even does, and it makes him smile to see that he was right. Maybe it’s better that he didn’t have to face a stranger after all. Maybe this was what he needed all along—to sit with the same person who was capable of loving him and hurting him at once. To know that love does not bar someone from causing that hurt. To know that it’s often the opposite that happens, that we open ourselves up to pain by feeling that love in the first place.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">His mind wanders to a boiled-over pot of tea and an accidental run-in making way for even more ways to hurt and ache and burn, and something loud and jarring and discomfiting</span> <span class="s1">settles inside his chest. Like the last piece of a puzzle finally clicking into place.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you happy, Percy?” Adam asks him quietly, and he purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks about good things coming in threes and the fact that there is always even more to find, and he cannot deny that even in the worst of times, in the lowest of moments, he really, truly is. Or he has the means to be, at least. Because, yes, Percy is tired. And yes, he longs for rest more than anything else most days. But he has everything he needs, he has all the support in the world, and he has a bright future to look forward to. To deny those truths would be to reject them altogether, would only end up hurting him. To pretend his exhaustion is nonexistent, though, would do the same; it's about finding a balance, Percy knows. And he thinks he's very nearly there. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am. I mean…not always. I get…not always. But I am. Really,” he says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remembers, then, that Adam does not have the same support he does. Or at least, he didn’t while Percy was around. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you?” he asks, and Adam raises his shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I try to be.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Trying is good. Trying is—all we can do,” he says, and Adam smiles, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">They share the quiet and Percy takes a </span> <span class="s1">moment to appreciate what has passed between them here and now, what passed between them then. How they've taken every moment they spent together and apart and learned from each other. How grateful he actually is for it all. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam must be thinking the same thing because his eyes soften and he sends Percy that understanding smile, the one that made it so easy to fall in love with him. Lips quirked up gently, eyes open and warm, the sharp angles of his face made softer by the round apples of his cheeks moving up and out. Percy squeezes his hand once and receives the same back before he stands, tugging on his hat. He pauses before he goes, presses a kiss to the top of Adam’s head, sighs in the familiar scent of his shampoo. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I’ll always love you,” he tells Percy quietly, and Percy scratches the side of Adam's neck as he straightens. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is no anger left. Just a mountain of relief, the massive load that used to weigh him down taken from his chest in a moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me too,” Percy says, and he means it. “Bye, Adam.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bye, Percy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And as he leaves, Percy is certain for the second time this week that he has made the right decision.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks back to what his mother had said, how easy it had been for her to accept what Percy believed he had to do. A million and one things could have gone horribly wrong, but she encouraged him anyway, trusted him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He realizes that his mother, for all her nagging and prodding and concern, has never once doubted him, never once seen him as incapable, never once treated him as such. She has only ever worried, only ever cared for him the best way she knew how. It was love that drove her there, love that pushed her forward, that guided her hand. She has always let Percy live his life the way he sees fit, has never done anything but support him unconditionally. <em>Only you know what’s best</em>, she’d said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That, he thinks, is the difference between love and control. The willingness to let go, to give him free rein to make his own mistakes, to learn and grow through trial and error. But that control may come from a deeper place, where fear and worry and love intermingle until the only thing left to do is protect protect protect. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse thought she was protecting him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That, he thinks, is the only part of this he finds forgivable. He knows too, though, that it just isn’t enough anymore. How long will he be forced to set aside his hurt for the sake of keeping the peace, for the sake of good intentions? But there is new hurt, now, too, the hurt that comes from losing her, from being apart from one of his best friends in the world.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t want that, anymore. He’s never wanted that. All he wants is for her to see him as he is, to stop thinking he is someone to be protected at the cost of his autonomy. Because it isn’t fair to him now, and it wasn’t fair to him before. He needs that change to come before he can move on from this.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is so lost in his thoughts as he makes his way home that by the time he arrives at his apartment he hardly notices the woman pacing back and forth in front of his door surrounded by bags of covered dishes and food trays. Percy stops in his tracks when he finally sees Clarisse and on her next turn she sees him, too, and freezes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Two face-offs in one day, made contrary by a critical difference: the fear and longing and hurt he sees in Clarisse’s eyes awakens every ounce of those same emotions within him, and he is frozen in his place not by indifference but by its opposite. He feels so much he can hardly stand it, so instead of acknowledging it just yet, he looks around at all the bags.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s happening?” he asks her slowly, and she inhales a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been stress-cooking. So much. Like, I invented 10 new recipes this week, and I know for a fact Reyna is never going to let me forget how I will never make them again. Or maybe I will. I don’t know. Everything fucking sucks and I’m sorry and I thought you might wanna try all the food and then I ended up making even more and I’m sorry and Reyna wrote really detailed reviews of every dish and I’m sorry,” she says, and he can tell that she is putting effort into not speaking as quickly as her nerves want her to. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is frozen in his place now for an entirely different reason; he has only ever heard Clarisse apologize about three times, all of which were to Reyna, all of which seemed to kill her just a little bit. She’s allowed her stubborn pride to get in the way of multiple opportunities, all in the name of needing to be right. But here she is, apologizing. With <em>words</em>. Food, too, but words. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy bites the inside of his cheek.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come in,” he says. “Let’s sit.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods vigorously and moves out of the way of his door so that he can let them in. He knows not to expect to find Hazel inside as she’s meeting with a study group today for one particularly difficult class of hers, so he is not surprised by the emptiness of his apartment. He helps Clarisse bring the bags in, and they set them down before they take off their shoes and jackets. They unpack the bags in silence, and by the end every free surface including the small coffee table in the living room is covered in different foods, all of which are portioned out for at least five people.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” Percy breathes out, and Clarisse nods again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re really upset,” he says quietly, and she nods again, casting her eyes down to the dish in front of her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am,” she admits. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me too,” he tells her, and she knits her eyebrows and looks up at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know that’s my fault,” she mutters. “I’m so sorry, Percy. Really I am. I never meant—it wasn’t about—” She sighs heavily. “It doesn’t matter what I meant, I guess. It matters that I hurt you. And I’m sorry that I did. Really.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy feels his throat tighten with a familiar pain and he tries to swallow but finds that he can’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” he tells her, his voice thick. “But it—you still—you still did it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods as well, her eyes a bit misty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” she says. “I know that. And I wish I’d never done it, because I knew it was wrong, deep down. I did. I couldn’t help it. I just—I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. I couldn’t stand it if—I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not because—what you did. It’s <em>why</em>. You thought—you think I’m still—the way I was before. But I’m not anymore, Rue. I’m not. I’m better, because of <em>you</em>. And you can’t keep—doing it. Thinking I’m gonna lose it. Or whatever. I’m not. I’m okay. I need you to know—I’m okay. I promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods and rubs at her eyes with her knuckles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know, I know you are, Percy. I never should’ve doubted that. It was wrong of me.” She takes a deep breath and meets his eyes, entirely earnest. “And I promise you it will never happen again, okay? I will never doubt you for a second, ever again. And I’ll do whatever I have to do to prove that to you, alright? I mean it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy swallows and wipes at his cheek, nodding a bit. He knows that she would do absolutely anything for him, would go to the ends of the earth if he asked it of her. He knows how much she loves him, and he loves her just the same.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I believe you,” he tells her, and she nods again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You said…you said I don’t believe in you, that night,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry I ever made you feel that way, Perce. Really. There’s no one in the world I believe in more than you. I think you’re a fucking badass. And I don’t…I think I just spent so long trying to protect you that I forgot I could ever be the one causing any damage.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have to stop,” he tells her, and she nods earnestly. “Please, Rue. You’re—my best friend. I need my best friend. Not—a bodyguard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. I know, and I promise I won’t make that mistake again. Really, Percy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods, then, because he is tired, and he loves her, and he is not willing to throw away that love in the name of holding onto old pain. He will give her this chance, and he knows for certain that she will not fuck it up. He trusts her, and if the emotionally stunted fool came all this way to bare her goddamn soul to him in the middle of his tiny kitchen then that means she must trust him, too. So he will not betray that trust, not now, not ever.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we eat?” he says, because Clarisse is a woman of action, and her lip trembles as she starts to smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. I ate so much already today. I’m gonna shit my pants, probably.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs brightly and she grins and they wipe at their faces and Percy cannot stand the distance between them any longer, so he throws himself at her in a hug. He thinks that she will shove him off of her like usual but instead she squeezes him so tightly he thinks his lungs might burst, and the tremble of her shoulders against his shakes his tears out from him, because holy shit—he’s <em>missed </em>her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” she cries again. “Percy, I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods and hugs her tighter and he knows that they are one and the same, that they keep their guilt in the same exact spot, wrapped up tight. He will help her let it go one thread at a time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t,” he tells her. “Not anymore, okay? Enough.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods and he clings to her a bit tighter and all the stress and sickness that has plagued him since their last discussion finally leaves him. They are okay. They will always be okay, because they know each other, and they know how to take care of one another. Because they are family.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do we try first?” he mumbles into his arm that’s wrapped around her shoulders, and she pulls back from him, then shoves him away for good measure.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get the fuck off of me, first,” she demands, and he grins so widely his cheeks ache.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles the tiniest bit and pulls out a piece of paper from her back pocket.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Reyna ranked them,” she informs him as her eyes scan the page. “Number one is the pineapple lime chicken kebabs.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s eyes widen as his stomach rumbles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s fuckin’ eat.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse’s eyes shine and as they knock their chicken kebabs together in a cheers he is certain that she trusts they have overcome this obstacle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they finish their feast and find that there is still enough food left over to feed the entire building, Percy suggests doing just that, and Clarisse smiles more genuinely than he’s seen in far too long. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is pain and there is hardship and there is labor in love, Percy thinks, but when it’s laid out right in front of you, 25 trays tall, it becomes much easier to focus on all the ways that love makes those struggles so worthwhile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth is exhausted, and it doesn’t make any sense at all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d gotten an incredible night’s sleep, a full 10 hours, after she’d soaked her leg and done her exercises and made sure to give herself the time she needed after work to unwind and take care of herself. It was the most relaxed she’d been in months, the most intentional she’d been in listening and responding to her body’s needs in even longer. For a few moments at the start of it all, she'd almost convinced herself out of it, convinced herself not to bother, but she thought back to what she'd learned in therapy that week: she could not let her past mistakes discourage her from learning and trying anew. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So she allowed herself to acknowledge the fact that it was long overdue without beating herself up for it, allowed herself time to recognize that whatever damage she had done would not be repeated again. Just because she had made a mistake, that did not make <em>her </em>a mistake. It just meant she had to work a little harder not to let it happen next time, to make a change for the better.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And she had. And it was the best she'd felt in months.</span>
</p><p class="p1">So there’s really no reason why she should be throwing herself across Piper’s kitchen island with a loud groan, wishing she was at home and curled up in bed instead of running around and helping her best friend set up her dining area for their impending brunch. </p><p class="p1">Percy had called her on a random Wednesday afternoon as she took her lunch break, shocking her so much she nearly forgot to pick up the phone. He'd just finished a speech therapy session, and he was calling to invite her to a gathering he would be co-hosting with Piper. There had been a few awkward pauses and quite a bit of stuttering on his part, and<span class="s1"> with each moment that passed</span> Annabeth could not deny the <span class="s1">aching in her sternum, weaving itself through the gaps of her ribs. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he'd invited her there, <em>wanted </em>her there. He'd called her Beth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something in her stomach had done a full-blown tap number when he said that. She has no idea when three syllables condensed into one started to mean so much to her, but she suspects it was the same moment he did it for her, spoke the name and brought a whole new meaning to the simple sound. It had made her weak, and she'd relented.</span>
</p><p class="p1">Now she is here, witnessing as Piper goes all-out on the décor, from the gorgeous plates to the heavy silver cutlery to the weird fancy napkin arrangements she forced Annabeth to learn to make for each place setting. When Annabeth had asked, halfway through constructing the napkin swans, <em>why </em>Piper was doing so much for just her closest friends, Piper had frowned at her.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy said it’s important,” she’d told Annabeth, and that had been that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Instead of questioning Piper further, Annabeth had just gotten back to work to help with the set-up. She briefly wondered why Percy wasn’t here to help set up himself, but she’d bitten her tongue; if he wasn’t here, then it had to be for a good reason. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That reason is made clear to her as his booming laugh cuts through the air and Annabeth quite literally jumps off the island into a standing position so quickly she gets dizzy. Percy and Clarisse walk into Piper’s kitchen equipped with so many reusable cloth bags that Annabeth cannot understand how their arms haven’t given out. She rushes to help them both with their loads and Percy smiles at her gratefully while Clarisse grunts her acknowledgment. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s all this?” Annabeth asks, peeking into the bags, and Clarisse swats her hands away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Brunch,” she says by way of explanation. “Some of it was prepared last night. Some of it will be prepared now. How useful are you in the kitchen?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About as useful as a band-aid at a gunfight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right. Get the fuck out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods once and does as she’s told, catching Percy’s eye as she goes. He grins at her, obviously doing his best to hold back his laughter, and she shakes her head and smiles. As she turns to leave she hears Clarisse speaking to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll do the chopping,” she says, then pauses at Percy’s silence. “Alright, alright. Fine. Sous chef. Grab your knives, bitch. I’m running this show.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy chuckles a bit and despite her amusement at Clarisse’s antics, Annabeth knits her eyebrows in confusion. She makes her way into the dining area, where Piper’s massive table that easily seats 12 people is set and ready to go. Piper is still fussing over the place settings when Annabeth wraps her arms around her best friend and rests her chin on her shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You gotta relax, kid,” Annabeth tells her, and Piper sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. I just…I have a feeling about something, and…I really want Percy to feel like I <em>care</em>, you know? Like, I want this to be special for him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I get that. But I think Percy would’ve been happy if you offered him your living room floor.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He would’ve,” Piper responds, and Annabeth can hear the smile in her voice. “But that’s not good enough for me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you think it’s about? Should we be worried?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper shakes her head and turns around to hug Annabeth properly, burying her face in her shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s good news; I’m sure of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth exhales through her nose and holds her best friend a little closer. Whatever the news may be, Annabeth is going to be as supportive as possible. Because she knows what it is like, to work towards something you’ve wanted forever, to reach the place you’ve always wanted to go. She can’t be certain of it, but she has a feeling that Percy wouldn’t have gathered all his best friends for anything less than that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hears a throat clear and she and Piper pull apart to turn towards the sound, where Percy is leaning in the doorway of the dining area with an apron that portrays a picture of a pineapple wearing sunglasses with a caption that reads <em>Fineapple</em>. Annabeth snorts and Percy sticks his tongue out at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How may I help you?” Piper asks, and Percy looks at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rue needs a-a—ah, shit.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows and frowns, his eyes turning to Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s the thing. And it’s—you put fruit. And ice cream, sometimes. Um—spinny. Loud.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Blender?” she suggests, and Percy snaps his fingers once in recognition.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. She needs it.” He turns to Piper. “You’re gross and rich—kitchen’s too big.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper rolls her eyes at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get out of my way, you rude bitch, before I throw my money at you,” she says haughtily, then pushes past him out of the room. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins widely and when his eyes fall on Annabeth he pauses a moment and kicks at the floor with his socked foot. Annabeth notices they have little penguins on them, and she smiles even as her heart constricts in her chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How are you?” he asks her gently, glancing up at her, and she takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m okay,” she says, and she means it. “Bit tired, but I’ll live. And you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m…better. A lot. I, um—I did a thing. I needed to do it—a long time ago. But I finally did. So. A lot better.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles softly, genuinely happy to hear it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad,” she tells him, and he nods, scratching at the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth, I—I just—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I miss you so much,” she blurts out, and she immediately regrets it as he stares at her. “Sorry. I know. I know I was the one to say that I couldn’t—and I know that we said we’d take time, but it’s not even about that, it’s just—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I miss you,” he interrupts. “A lot. I just wanna be your friend. I don’t care—I wanna be your friend.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods vigorously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanna be your friend, too,” she whispers. “If you’ll have me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He exhales heavily and steps forward to pull her into a bone-crushing hug. She buries her face in his chest and wraps her arms around him, squeezing him just as tightly. Everything in her that has been so unsettled lately slowly finds its rest, and she sighs into him contentedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God, she’s missed this. She’s missed <em>him,</em> more than anything or anyone. She’s missed him. It’s like she’s been walking around with a missing limb, a part of her so essential to her life that she had to adjust and adapt to the change. She never wants to adapt to being without him again. And she won’t, not if she can help it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I really love you, Percy,” she hears herself saying, and he holds her even closer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you, Beth,” he mutters. “Best friends, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Best friends,” she agrees and pulls him closer to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She means it, too. Why does she have to choose, one or the other? Why can’t she love him as her best friend and be in love with him? Why does that line have to be so strictly defined anyway? If Piper has taught her anything, it's that there is love in everything, absolutely everywhere, and right now, Annabeth does not care where it comes from. It doesn’t matter anymore; she loves him, and he loves her, and they’re together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Together is the best she can ever hope for, and together is all she needs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He releases her rather unceremoniously when they hear Clarisse shouting like a madwoman from the kitchen for him to get his <em>bony ass back to the cutting board</em>. Percy’s eyes widen in fear and he leaves Annabeth with a quick squeeze on the hand before he quite literally sprints towards his head chef’s voice. Annabeth grins a bit and hopes against hope that, from now on, they might be able to get back to where they used to be, when it was easy and gentle and light. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Later, as she and Piper help Percy and Clarisse bring all the food into the dining area and their friends all file in one after the other and she feels her heart swell with all the love she has for them, she knows that easy and gentle and light will be a long time coming. But she is willing to put in the work if he is. He catches her eye from where he stands speaking to his best friend and his partner, waving her over to meet them, and Annabeth thinks back to reciprocation, thoughts and feelings returned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A two-way street.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles a bit shyly as she heads over, gives the pair a little wave, and Percy’s friends smile at her genuinely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You must be Annabeth,” the woman with long, auburn hair says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She reaches out for what Annabeth thinks is a handshake, but she ends up holding Annabeth’s hand between her own in a gesture so open and warm that Annabeth is taken aback.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Juniper.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello,” Annabeth manages to say without her voice shaking. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at the man in the wheelchair and smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m Grover,” he says in the same gentle tone his partner used. “Percy’s best friend since—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Since you were <em>12</em>, bitch, scoot over,” Hazel cuts in, taking her spot between Percy and Grover.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy rolls his eyes and Annabeth grins at the offended look on Grover’s face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“At least when he met me he had a <em>choice</em>,” Grover argues, and Hazel opens her mouth, then shuts it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For the sake of your unborn child I will not be using my words today,” she says, then proceeds to flip him off with both hands. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy wraps his arm around Hazel’s neck and pulls her back into his chest, seemingly to restrain her, and Juniper laughs brightly, the sound so bell-like and sweet that Annabeth thinks she might be some sort of Disney princess come to life. She’s barely processed the fact that the minuscule woman still holding onto her hand is pregnant because her baby bump is so small it looks as though she's just a bit gassy. Annabeth shakes her head to clear it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Congratulations,” she tells Juniper, and the woman smiles warmly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you. We’ve been trying for a while, now; we’re so happy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finally releases Annabeth’s hand to move beside her partner, resting her hands on his shoulders. She leans down and plants a kiss on top of his head, and his warm, brown eyes crinkle as he smiles with such pure, unadulterated happiness that Annabeth’s chest aches. She is so fucking happy for these two strangers she’s only just met, and everything in her hopes that this will not be the last time she sees them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me and Grover—we work with Jackie,” Percy explains, and she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I remember you telling me about that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Flo’s better,” he tells her, and the fact that he remembers how much that little turtle meant to her—the fact that he thought to update her—she doesn’t know why it makes her chest heave just a bit, but it does. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad. She’s a good turtle.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He narrows his eyes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jackie’s a good whale.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes and prepares herself to argue that she does not hate Jackie, nor any other whale, when they are interrupted by the last guest finally arriving and immediately wrapping his arms around both Percy and Hazel, lifting them into the air. Hazel lets out a strangled noise that makes Annabeth smack her hand over her mouth to quell her laughter and Percy shouts indignantly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My husband and our child,” Jason says, still lifting Percy and Hazel in the air. “Our family, reunited at long last.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let—go!” Percy yells. “Your bones!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jason rolls his eyes and drops them both down, and Hazel and Percy immediately whirl on him and start yelling at once.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You fucking idiot, do you want to end up back in a hospital—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dumb bitch! Dumb stupid idiot—bitch—!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aw, I love you guys, too,” Jason coos, and wraps his arms around them in a less damaging hug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll kill you, dummy,” Hazel threatens but hugs him anyway. “Your joints are only half-metal; you're not invincible. Don’t do that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs heavily and Percy whacks him in the side of the head as Hazel steps out of his embrace and retreats to Grover’s side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, okay—fine,” Jason concedes. “Am I not allowed to love my friends?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Percy says simply, and Annabeth watches as Jason quite literally bites Percy’s shoulder through his sweater.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ow, bitch!” Percy shouts, shooting back from their friend. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns to Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get your friend,” he tells her, and she grins, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s gone feral—nothing to do now but wait until he tires himself out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jason narrows his eyes at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m coming for you next, Chase.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d like to see you try, wolf boy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs brightly and Jason startles as two skinny arms wrap around his middle from behind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everyone shut up, my husband has returned from war,” Leo announces from somewhere behind Jason.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s far too short to see behind the blonde man’s tall stature. It’s objectively hilarious.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I saw you last night,” Jason says but places his hands over Leo’s anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did more than see me,” Leo remarks suggestively, and Jason rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t try to put the moves on me, Valdez. I’m not strong enough to resist your charms and you know it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“All the more reason to try, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate to break up the love-fest,” Piper cuts in, “but everyone shut the fuck up and take your seats, please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover gasps and places his hands on Juniper’s stomach as if to cover their unborn child’s ears, and Piper purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My apologies to the little ones,” she mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover sniffs and Juniper kisses his head again and Annabeth forces herself to turn away and follow Piper to the dining table before she can start to cry. She’s not even a little bit drunk yet; they’re just that cute.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes her place beside Reyna, who greets her with a raise of her eyebrows, and Annabeth makes two quick kissing noises at her to which she responds by grimacing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Watch it. I’ll tell HR about this,” Reyna grumbles into her glass of water, and Annabeth laughs brightly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once everyone’s settled into their seats Piper thanks Percy and Clarisse (mostly Clarisse) for the meal and Reyna purses her lips as if holding herself back from making a remark she knows will piss off her wife. She still looks to her right and stares Clarisse down anyway, a large grin on her face, and Clarisse narrows her eyes and shoves a biscuit into Reyna’s mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The silent argument ends there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brunch moves on much the way Annabeth expects it to: loud, joyful, and entirely chaotic. Nico and Will get bombarded with questions about their recent engagement, Jason and Reyna both threaten to break Will’s kneecaps if he ever even <em>thinks</em> about hurting their precious “emo son,” Leo and Annabeth discuss the genius engineering behind Japanese woodworking, Piper and Clarisse argue about secret recipes, and Grover, Juniper, Hazel, and Percy seem to be in the midst of a heated discussion that Annabeth does not have the capacity to listen in on. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy has an announcement!” Hazel suddenly yells over the noise, and as everyone quiets down Annabeth looks over to find Percy glaring at his best friend harshly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel just smiles at him with no teeth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go on, Perce,” she says in a sickly sweet voice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy swallows and looks around at his friends, who are staring at him expectantly. He catches Annabeth’s eyes and she tries to smile encouragingly, but he knits his eyebrows, utterly distraught. Then he stuffs a piece of toast in his mouth. Annabeth has never seen him look quite so nervous, and she worries about him briefly before Nico palms his fork and starts to lift it into the air. Will pulls his arm down quickly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I fucking <em>hate it </em>when he does that,” Nico growls, and Will rubs his fiancé’s shoulder soothingly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me, too, baby. Hopefully he’ll choke on his toast,” Will says in a calming voice, and Percy laughs so hard he spits out his food. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The table descends into utter madness, everyone now directing their shouting at Percy. He sighs heavily and sends Annabeth a pleading look, but all he does is raise her shoulders in a <em>what can you do</em> motion in response. He grimaces and sticks his tongue out at her and she returns it in kind. He narrows his eyes at her and she mimics him exactly, then raises her hand to her forehead and taps it twice. He knits his eyebrows as his shoulders slump, and he sighs heavily, then flails his hand around for everyone to quiet down. Once they do, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m—I—um.” He swallows and turns his eyes towards his plate. “I’m moving. To Long Island.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, <em>God</em>,” Nico whispers miserably.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanna—work’s so far, and—it’s easier. So I’m gonna go,” Percy continues, and everyone is silent. “I’m not going yet. I still—I have a lotta shit. I gotta move. It’s gonna take—a long time, maybe. I’m not going yet.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth isn’t quite sure what to say. It seems as though nobody is sure what to say, because the silence stretches out, long and seemingly endless. That’s until Piper shakes her head as if to clear it and smiles genuinely. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s so great, Perce,” she tells him. “We know how draining the commute is. This is gonna be amazing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles at her gratefully but he looks as though he might be sick, and his eyes flit nervously to Clarisse, who is seated to Piper’s left. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean…how far away is it?” Will asks. “Like, you’ll be able to come visit, right? And we can visit you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy nods vigorously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah. Yes. It’s not too close—to work. I wanted—just <em>less</em>. But it’s better. A lot better. And I’ll come on weekends.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Almost the entire table breathes a sigh of relief at that, Annabeth included. She’s not sure exactly how much they may have seen of each other in the coming months whether or not he was in the city, but at the very least she would never have to worry about being far from him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she has no claim over him or his time, and she knows how exhausted he gets, how much he goes through to get to work every day. This is good for him. It really, truly is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I think it’s about fuckin’ time,” Leo finally says, then takes a gulp of his Bloody Mary so large he nearly finishes the whole thing. “You’ve been miserable forever. Glad you finally got your head out of your ass.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth whacks his arm, and Leo makes a face at her and shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? It’s true.” He turns to Percy. “Just because last time you lived alone—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re really happy for you, Percy,” Reyna cuts in. “Honestly. This is wonderful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse stays noticeably silent as everyone else congratulates Percy and he keeps glancing over at her anxiously, as if he’s waiting for her to speak out against it. Reyna finally elbows Clarisse hard and she glares at her wife, then looks over at Percy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m happy for you, I am,” she insists. “I think you’ve needed this for a really long time, Perce.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles slightly but his shoulders are still a bit tense, and Clarisse pauses.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does this mean…Thursdays are canceled?” she asks in a voice smaller than Annabeth has ever heard from her, and Percy sags with relief.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? <em>No</em>. You’re still—coming. Right?” he says, and she grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well if I’m driving there and back alone, you’re gonna have to make it worth my while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grins widely and rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can—feed the sharks,” he tells her, and then he gasps like an excited kid. “You can—sleep! Sleep by me! It’s so fun!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse seems to have trouble tamping down her smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Deal,” she says, and he beams.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well that’s not fair, I wanna sleep over,” Hazel complains.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me too,” Leo chimes in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then there is chaos once more, fighting over who gets the bed, until Jason cuts in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, wait!” he yells, and everyone quiets down. “Do you even have a place yet?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy flattens his lips together and scratches at the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, yeah. I, uh—Grover helped. A while ago,” he admits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A <em>while</em>?” Piper exclaims. “Just how long has this been going on?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grover’s eyes widen and he shakes his head at Percy, motioning his hand in front of his neck, and Percy scrunches up his nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Two months? Maybe a little more?” he says as if he is unsure, and Nico all but screeches.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You fucking <em>snakes</em>! The both of you!” he yells, looking between Grover and Percy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazel knew longer than me!” Grover shouts, pointing at her, and the girl in question’s jaw drops.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Grover, you little—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The utter <em>betrayal</em>!” Nico exclaims.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I told y’all she can’t be trusted,” Leo says into his glass, and Hazel throws a biscuit at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Months? <em>Months</em>? I let you into my home—” Piper begins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well I’ve been out of the loop for like a year, I don’t give a shit, actually,” Jason remarks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I let you cook me food—” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ooh, by the way, these eggs are divine,” Will tells Clarisse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You taught me how to make a lava cake, you sick fuck!” Piper finally finishes. “All while you kept this secret from me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy looks at her pleadingly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pipes—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do not <em>Pipes</em> me. You will cook me a lava cake every Saturday for the rest of your life or you’re dead to me, you hear? And you give me full rein on the interior decoration.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods emphatically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Deal. Deal. Promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that's that, it seems. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brunch continues on and the world keeps spinning and Annabeth is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love these people all have for each other. It’s always been obvious, and she’s always <em>known</em>, but now especially as they all sit gathered around the same table, sharing their meal together, they truly resemble a family. A massive, loud, obnoxious, convoluted family, but a family all the same. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">More than just love, there is happiness here, a deep-seated comfort and warmth that overpowers whatever else may keep them down outside of this room. Annabeth remembers her lunch with Reyna, remembers what her friend had said about the people you love making life a little easier to bear. Now more than ever she sees it clear as day; Percy laughs brightly, openly, happier than she’s seen him in far too long. Clarisse smiles more within these few hours than Annabeth has ever seen her do combined. Nico swats away Jason’s fussing hands from his uncooperative mop of black hair, but it is obvious how much he is struggling to hold his own laughter back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">Despite the tightness in her chest and the tension in her stomach, Annabeth finds that she can breathe a little easier here, as if the air around her has become lighter.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their lives are messy and heavy and each one of them has a different cross to bear, but at this table, together, they can find some semblance of relief. And that's more than Annabeth ever thought possible.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe now is a good time to allow herself to hope for even more. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm back with an update as to how the chapters will be paced out from now on. Figuring out how to go about this chapter and writing everything that happened took nearly every ounce of mental energy I have left, so I will likely not be starting chapter 9 for a bit. That being said, I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep up with the every 2ish weeks schedule I have now, so it might take longer than usual to get these last two parts out. Just wanted to keep you all in the loop about the timings!<br/>Again, thank you all so much for reading, it really does mean the world! I'm so glad my little story could bring even the tiniest bit of entertainment/distraction/your noun of choice to your lives. Thank you times a million!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>EDIT: I am so sorry I am very dumb and impatient and I deleted the chapter when I went to fix a formatting problem because I simply could not take it anymore (I think it's fixed now? Did anyone see it? All the dialogue cut up weird?). Sorry to anyone who is subscribed if you got a second update email, this is not chapter 10 it is simply me and my stupidity, so sorry I promise did not intend to deceive you (also just recently found out subscriptions are a thing??? When I accidentally hit the stats tab instead of my history??? I love you all whoever you are thanks a bunch friends).<br/>Anyway, let’s try this again!</p><p>Hello! Once again, so sorry for how long it took to post this chapter. Sometimes life throws All The Things at you at once and there is simply no time for anything else. This is another super long chapter though, so hopefully that makes up for it!<br/>-Chapter contains implied references to domestic abuse (very briefly in the very first section), scenes of mild emotional distress (Annabeth’s first section), and deals with chronic pain and mental health (also Annabeth’s first section)<br/>-I didn’t mark any sections with trigger warnings this time around but if you feel the need to skip over these first two sections I’ll recap them in the next chapter for you (more on the new chapter count later)<br/>Thank you all for your patience and as always, thanks so much for reading! Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is in a really great mood, all things considered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Actually, he supposes there’s not much to <em>not</em> be happy about lately. Everyone he loves is now aware of his plans to move and is actively helping him in the process, his job is moving in the best direction it possibly can, and Annabeth…he and Annabeth are working on it. They are working on being friends again, which is all he really needs, all he’s ever needed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He just wants her in his life. He doesn’t care in what aspect that might be anymore—he only cares about her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cares about her so much, in fact, that she has basically been the only thing he’s thought about for the past week. Because, well—it’s her, isn’t it? It always has been.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tries to quell the fluttering in his stomach as he steps into the coffee shop to meet Nawra for his weekly interview, tries not to look over at their table. But he does look, and he finds Annabeth looking, too, and his body reacts instantaneously, a massive smile he cannot contain overtaking his face. He sends her a small wave as she smiles back, and she is so fucking radiant that his heart skips a beat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra ruins the moment when she turns in her seat and flags him down, waving her arm around like a madwoman, but he points to the coffee line and she sticks her tongue out at him. She’s more impatient than usual today.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once he has his tea he makes his way over to the table cautiously, unsure if their time is up or not. He doesn’t want to rush them, but it seems as though Nawra is adamant about him being there because she sends him a glare over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hurry up, old man,” she demands, and he very nearly gives in to his impulse to flip her off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>She’s a kid she’s a kid she’s a kid she’s a</em>—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Brat,” he grumbles, and she scowls at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About time you showed up,” she says once he gets there, and he sticks his tongue out at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes and looks between her two interviewees.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanna ask you guys something together,” she says, folding her hands in front of her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth purses her lips as if she’s not quite sure that’s the best idea. The last time she and Percy saw each other after agreeing that they would give each other the time they needed, it had gone really well. So well, in fact, that Percy can actually allow himself to believe that they will be able to come back from this. That they will find their footing as friends again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe she starts thinking on the same terms, because she eventually nods and offers Percy a small smile. He returns the gesture in kind and takes his place in the seat next to her, careful not to let his arm brush against hers or their knees to touch. They seem to be getting better, but he does not know <em>how</em> much better, does not yet know where their limits lie.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knows exactly why that thought hurts, exactly where, but there is nothing he can do about it now. They are taking their time. And whatever that entails, he will respect it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” Annabeth says gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” he greets, then glances at Nawra. “Um, is everything—okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I just need you both here for this,” Nawra says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows and sends a questioning look at Annabeth, but all she can do is shrug in response, and he realizes that she doesn’t know what’s going on either.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, thank you both for joining me here today,” Nawra begins, her hands folded before her. “As you know this is my last interview with Annabeth, so—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, what?” Annabeth interrupts, looking at Nawra incredulously. “This isn’t my last interview.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes it is. Didn’t you see the schedule I sent you? We’re done.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth shakes her head again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, we didn’t even finish—we still have so much to talk about.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra frowns and knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like what?” she asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well—like—um—hm. I guess…I don’t know, really,” Annabeth mutters. “But I’m sure we’ll think of something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra looks Annabeth over, and Percy watches the way Annabeth’s walls go up in realtime, can tell by the tension in her neck and shoulders how suddenly she begins to feel self-conscious, exposed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you <em>want</em> to continue with the interviews? Because I don’t mind, I think it’d be dope. I just thought, you know, there’s a timeline to follow or whatever, so…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth shakes her head vigorously and swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s fine, I just…I'm a bit taken off-guard, I guess,” she admits. “I’ve kind of gotten used to the routine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra purses her lips and looks down at her notebook. Percy watches Annabeth’s face as Nawra flicks through a few pages in his periphery. He knows he shouldn’t be, but he is really, <em>really</em> staring. He can’t help it; her very obvious shock from earlier has worn into a sort of melancholy that he wishes he could fix, replace with something better, something just as bright as she is. Because she is the brightest thing in the universe, and there is never a moment he can stand to see her light dimmed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns to him suddenly, her eyebrows knit in frustration.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” she snaps, and he frowns.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re sad,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He taps her ankle with his foot twice and she seems to deflate a bit, leans to her left, towards him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe a little,” she mutters, and he juts out his lower lip.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can—do it. I’ll ask questions. Put it in—a science book.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs a bit and he smiles widely and knocks his leg into hers once more. She does it right back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’ve done some calculations,” Nawra says. “It seems as though I was right. You guys are super in love and for some reason it’s not working out and now you’re both quiet and weird all the time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth and Percy gape at Nawra, their mouths hanging open, and she raises her eyebrows at them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Am I wrong?” she asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—you—you—” Percy stutters, beside himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How is that relevant to what we’re doing here exactly?” Annabeth asks, placing her hand on Percy’s arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks her intention is to calm him down, but his heart starts pumping so hard he thinks it might beat itself out of his chest. He is so screwed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra shrugs at them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not really, I’m just nosy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth blinks at her and Percy bites his lip to stop himself from smiling. She’s such a little rat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” Annabeth says, and Percy can tell she does not know what to say.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>He</em> doesn’t know what to say.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, um…thanks for your honesty?” Annabeth says uncertainly, and Percy nearly breaks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You probably shouldn’t thank me for asking about your personal life, but okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing and does his best to keep a straight face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re 10,” he says just to annoy her after what she’s done to them, and she scowls at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hush, you. I like you better when you’re quiet.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His jaw drops and he leans back from her in offense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rat,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Anyway</em>,” Nawra says pointedly, rolling her eyes, “just because our interviews are over, Annabeth, that doesn’t mean I don’t need you during the editing process. You know I need clarifications and follow-ups and stuff, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy watches as Annabeth purses her lips and cast her eyes downward. Fuck, she’s adorable. He cannot stand this for another second.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did not know that,” she admits quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t worry, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy smiles and Annabeth laughs until Nawra follows it up with a “you’ll never get rid of me” in a truly concerning undertone, and Percy’s eyes widen. Annabeth shoots him an alarmed look and it’s all he can do not to burst out laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So why did you need to speak to the both of us?” Annabeth asks Nawra.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is grateful for the change of subject.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, well, I was just gonna ask you something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gets shy suddenly, something she hasn’t done for quite a while, at least not since she’s gotten used to speaking with them. Percy starts to worry until she finally speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought, well…do you want to come to my presentation? It’s open to friends and family and whoever and…I mean, it’s <em>about you</em>.” She looks down at her hands. “So I thought you might wanna see the end result, or whatever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She peeks up at them and Percy smiles widely as Annabeth’s face softens.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d love to come,” Annabeth tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me, too,” Percy says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra looks between them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, really?” They both nod. “Well, shit—thanks!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why were you—scared?” he asks, then takes a sip of his tea.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know, sometimes you just get in your head about dumb shit,” she says. “Plus it’s so far away.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When is it exactly?” Annabeth asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“May 20th. It’s a Thursday, just so you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy deflates a bit after hearing that new piece of information, as he was hoping he wouldn’t have to go back and forth between the city and his new place during the week. Nawra sends him a concerned look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—what time?” he asks her, and she wrings her hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“7:30. PM. Is that…can you not do it? It’s okay if you can’t, really, it’s no big d—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can come,” he says, because he refuses to let down the girl he has come to feel incredibly protective over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He would sooner throw himself into the Hudson River than miss the presentation he’s watched her agonize over for so many months.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Promise,” he assures her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raises her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bold words for an old fella like yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s gonna kill her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re—the worst. Ever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, <em>Jaddi</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy scowls at the younger girl for having the nerve to call him a grandpa and when he looks at Annabeth he finds that she’s doing her best to bite back her smile. Her best is not enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cannot comprehend the utter betrayal, especially not when Nawra sees the look on Annabeth’s face and points at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ha! Even Annabeth knows the truth,” she exclaims, and Percy looks to Annabeth, wounded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—stabbed me. In the back,” he tells her, and she laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t wanna hear it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grins widely and rolls her eyes, then turns back to Nawra.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that all? Can I go now?” she asks, and Percy does his best to hide his disappointment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra waves Annabeth off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah, fine. I’ll email you when I need to meet up and go over the edits or whatever,” she says to Annabeth, though her eyes are set on staring Percy down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy flattens his lips into a firm line and does his best to glare at Nawra as Annabeth shakes her head at them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, goodbye, then,” she says, standing up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy’s attention snaps back to her, and he looks up at her knowing exactly how soppy and vulnerable his face must look, because he <em>feels</em> soppy and vulnerable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will—can we—see you soon?” he stutters out, and she smiles softly at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, you will,” she says gently, and he wants to reach out and hold her hand so badly it hurts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An idea comes to him, then. Maybe it’s selfish, and maybe he shouldn’t do it, but he’s been sitting here with her for the better part of 10 minutes, and there’s only so much one man can take.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh!” he says, settling for tugging on her sleeve. “I wanted to ask—Pipes and me—Hazel I think—we’re gonna do the thing. You know. I gotta—buy stuff. To put it. At the new place. Um, tables and—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Furniture,” she and Nawra say simultaneously, and he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. Um, do you wanna—come with us? You’re just—good at it,” he says, and Annabeth grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this you admitting that you think my interior design skills are on par with Miss Piper McLean’s?” she teases, and he laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe,” he says, and the smile on her face is so open and fond that he thinks he might die on the spot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d love to, Perce. Text me, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods, incredibly grateful that she’s said yes. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d wanted, <em>needed</em> her to agree. The idea that he wouldn’t have known when he’d see her next had settled over him like a heavy fog fraught with tension. But he does know, now, and he can relax, can breathe easy once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He drops her sleeve.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. Good. See you,” he says, and she sends him that smile again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She bumps his shoulder with the side of her fist twice before she says goodbye to Nawra and heads out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy doesn’t realize he is staring at her leaving until Nawra clears her throat loudly and he snaps back to reality, shaking his head. His cheeks burn fiercely, but he refuses to allow a 10-year-old child to make him embarrassed. She’s 10.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a sip of his tea and blinks at her lazily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I help you?” he asks, and she narrows her eyes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why don’t you guys just get married already?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy chokes on his tea, coughing violently, and Nawra’s eyes widen as she grabs a bunch of napkins for him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, relax, it was a joke,” she says, and he glares at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re <em>10</em>,” he tells her again. “Mind your business.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows and pouts at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mind <em>your</em> business,” she defends, crossing her arms over her chest, and he tilts his head at her questioningly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What—?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s begin today’s interview,” she says loudly, cutting him off, and he rolls his eyes. “Is there a problem Mr. Jackson?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” he tells her, and she waits expectantly. “You.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grimaces at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmhmm,” he hums as he sips his tea. “Very rude. Not a fan.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Take it up with someone who cares, old man. Tell me about your last Olympics or get out of my sight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A laugh escapes him involuntarily and he wishes he was unfeeling enough to get up and walk out, just to teach her a lesson, but he is not, and she knows it. She beams at him, grinning triumphantly, and he exhales heavily through his nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where do I start?” he asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The beginning, of course. Spill your guts, dude; we have an hour and a half to kill.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They kill those 90 minutes easily, talking even after the alarm on her phone goes off. Percy never realized just how much he had to say about it all, about his last Olympics ever, the way he never knew it would be. He thought he had at least two more in him, maybe even three if he took care of himself well enough. It’s odd to reflect on his time there, now, to think about who he used to be. So lost, so motivated by one thing and one thing only: survival.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Survival, not for himself, but for his mother. A way to keep her afloat. A way to protect her from ever having to sacrifice herself for any reason, ever again. No matter the toll it took on him, no matter the price, no matter the end result that brought him here—he would do it all again in a second. Just to see the triumphant glow on her face when she finally had the means to leave that sorry sack of shit. Just to see the rage behind his eyes when he realized Sally Jackson would no longer be a thing he could control.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Money, an old cast iron skillet, and the promise that Gabe would never, ever be able to find them again. Three good things. Three good things that he has never taken for granted, not even at his richest, his safest, his proudest. Three good things he will never forget were only made possible by everything he worked for, everything he sacrificed—that, and Sally Jackson’s sheer force of will.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So really, who gives a fuck if he was lost and confused and couldn’t figure out who he was? The only identity that will ever matter to him is being Sally Jackson’s son. The son of the strongest woman on the face of the Earth, the son of the warmest, most compassionate human being alive. He is his mother’s son, first and foremost. No more, and no less. Everything else is secondary.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He would do everything he did and more, without a second thought. For her and her alone. For them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra shakes him out of his reverie with a surprising question, one he didn’t expect.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So have you gone swimming since?” she asks, and he feels his eyebrows shoot up his forehead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—yeah,” he mutters, scratching at his left palm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Care to elaborate?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips a bit dejectedly but nods nonetheless, flips through her notebook. Obviously she was expecting more of an answer out of him, but he appreciates that she is not pushing it. In all of her nagging and trash-talking and borderline-manic ranting, she has never crossed a line, never pushed him to speak about things he isn’t comfortable with. He knows it is basic human decency, but during his run in the Olympics he’d done plenty of interviews that totally violated his privacy, pushed his boundaries to an incredibly uncomfortable extent. And those were grown adults.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If this child can manage to restrain herself, especially under the circumstances she is in, when it is necessary for her to complete such an important project, and <em>especially</em> with her impulsive motor mouth, then he will appreciate her for all she’s worth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she searches for a new line of questioning he lets his mind wander to his last session with Piper this week, when they finally broached the topic he’d been avoiding for so long, the one she’d slowly been inching him towards. The p-word.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t get it, Perce,” she’d said, knitting her eyebrows in confusion. “You have a problem with pools, but you love to swim. You love being in the water. So what is it? What’s the difference?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not water. It’s—concrete.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d taken a deep breath, taken his time. He couldn’t speak freeform about it, hadn’t done so since therapy, and even then it was stilted and difficult and he was never really able to overcome this specific issue. He needed to talk about it in terms of things he could understand, what he’d studied—something she would understand, too. Chemistry. Physics. Science. Whatever the fuck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Water—the shape is—it’s the thing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He held his hand as if it was a bowl, curling his fingers as if there was a ball resting in his palm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Container,” Piper said, and he nodded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If there’s a room—water’s flooding a room—it’s not the water’s fault. It’s—the room’s fault. You can’t drown iiii-in—in shallow water—because—because.” He’d knit his eyebrows and slowed down, let himself take a few moments. “The container—it’s not deep enough. It’s the concrete.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper had finally seemed to understand what he was saying, and her confused expression had morphed into something much less palatable than her usual calming gaze—sympathy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It changed just as quickly, though, into something else. A challenge. Curiosity. He’d much preferred the way her eyes lit up and she’d leaned forward, intrigue written plainly on her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well how can you swim in the ocean, then?” she asked, and he sighed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They always had snacks during their sessions, ways to cut up all the talking and to give each other a break when they needed it. That day she’d laid out a big bowl of blueberries, and they’d spent the first 10 minutes of their session trying to throw them into each other’s mouths. At that point, though, he’d gotten up and headed over to her water cooler, half-filling a cup with water. He moved back to the table as Piper watched curiously, and dropped one of the blueberries inside the cup. He motioned for her to look into the top of the cup and shook it around.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See? Hits the wall,” he’d said</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then he dumped the contents of the cup onto the table and she jumped back, removing her elbows and glaring at him. He pointed to the puddle that had formed on the surface of the wood, and they watched together as the water spread out, the blueberry in the middle.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No walls. The ocean is good. It’s—open.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper stuck her finger into the puddle and tapped on the tabletop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about the floor?” she said.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d shaken his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just swim far out,” he told her, and she pursed her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But you can still drown.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knit his eyebrows, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Drowning—that’s not—no. It’s not drowning.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then what is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tapped the side of his head, along the line of the large scar that runs the length of his scalp. Where they’d needed to cut him open, to stop the bleeding, do what they could before it was too late for him. The scar that saved his life, even if it ended up making getting haircuts from strangers a real bitch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bumping my head,” he told her, and she’d leaned back into her chair, her lips pursed hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A half-truth, but a truth nonetheless. He could tell by the look on her face she knew there was more, could tell just how much more she knew. The word he couldn’t say. The word that, by the end of their session that day, he would be forced to spell out letter by letter. The word that, after this week’s session, he would be singing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Exposure therapy, Piper had called it. Going little by little until he could handle the anxiety that came with saying the word out loud.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy told her that she was a speech therapist, not a psychologist. She’d just shrugged at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If I have to become Aaron fucking Beck to get you to say the word ‘pool,’ Percy, I will. Do not insult me ever again or I’ll decorate your new home to look like an Olympic training facility.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that had been that. No sense in arguing with a determined Piper McLean.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is so lost in his thoughts that it takes Nawra literally clapping her hands an inch in front of his face for him to come to, and he shakes his head hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ssss-sorry,” he apologizes. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit, I thought you were dissociating or something,” she breathes, sitting back into her chair. “Do you know how long I was trying to get your attention?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels his cheeks heat up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I get—stuck, sometimes,” he tells her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face softens, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me, too,” she mutters, fiddling with the spirals on her notebook. “You must’ve been deep in it, huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love my best friend,” he blurts out, and she raises her eyebrows at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good for you, weirdo,” she says. “I have to go home, now, though.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait. Just…wait.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nawra pauses packing up her belongings, and he purses his lips, tries to put his thoughts to words.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know…like, sometimes…there’s just…it’s people. You know? They—they know you. Really know you. Like—they <em>know</em> you. Hard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Deeply?” Nawra suggests, and he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. They know what to say. And how. And what you need. And it’s like…it doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t—how does it even happen? How can-can—how do they <em>do it</em>? Right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gapes at him, and he sighs in defeat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Never mind,” he mutters, leaning back into his chair, and she knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean, like, how do people get to know you so well? Better than you know yourself, sometimes?” Nawra asks, and Percy nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shrugs, then, and slings her backpack over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You let them,” she says simply, and stands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy thinks that she might be one of the smartest people he’s ever met, and he is getting ready to tell her just that when she ruins the moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See you next week, <em>Jaddi</em>. We can talk about your retirement plans or something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna bring <em>shib-shib</em>. Throw’m at—your head.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs brightly and calls him a grumpy old man, and it’s all he can do to remind himself that just a minute ago she was imparting wisdom upon him when he did not have the mental energy to come to a conclusion himself. For all her annoying jabs, she’s really quite helpful when she wants to be. Percy supposes she’s probably helped him in more ways than one over the past few months that they’ve been doing these interviews.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He never realized just how much he’s able to vocalize in their short time together, how much simply saying the few words out loud to someone about everything that happened to him makes it infinitely easier to think about on his own. Suddenly Annabeth’s reaction to the end of her interviews earlier makes more sense to him. Suddenly he understands her on an entirely new level. One he’d never have been able to if she hadn’t convinced him to come along, just once. If she hadn’t been the one to nudge Percy gently in the direction of helping the annoying kid with the giant eyes and even bigger mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If she hadn’t let him get close enough to understand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A thousand walls and elevator doors squeezed shut tight and, behind it all, a sudden hope that as they move forward, together and apart, she might open herself up to him once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a thought that once would have been fleeting, too bright to bear for fear that its light would burn out too quickly. Now, though, it stays rooted in its place at the forefront of his mind, starts to take a new shape, starts to become something even bigger, even brighter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All that’s left, the only thing he can possibly do, is to take the first step towards letting her in again. To let her know he is here, that he will not be going anywhere anytime soon. To show her that he is hers. And there is nothing in the world, in all the infinite universe, that will ever change that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth is having one of the worst days of her life and it’s all—well, it’s all her fault. Which, she thinks, is the worst part of her worst day. The fact that it was preventable. The fact that if she hadn’t been such a dumb bitch, today could’ve been really quite good.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It all started a week ago, when she skipped her nightly soak in the bath. She had been so exhausted after work that she could not bring herself to do anything but collapse onto her bed and knock the hell out. She didn’t think it would make a difference—it was only one day, after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then one day turned into two, which turned into three, which turned into here and now, her muscles and joints aching, take their revenge for her carelessness. As if they’re letting her know it’s exactly what she deserves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She downs a mixture of ibuprofen and Tylenol and grits her teeth and does her absolute best not to throw her laptop across the room from her spot on the couch, but it is taking everything in her not to give in to that impulse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hates herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s the only thought she can manage to have, the easiest thing in the world to think. <em>I hate myself I hate myself I’m such a dumb fuckin’ bitch, I HATE myself</em>—on and on and on in a loop, so loud and persistent that it almost distracts her from the shooting pains in her knee. Territory that’s familiar but not quite safe, known to her in the worst of ways.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s better than this.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She <em>should be</em> better than this, is the thing. She was supposed to have learned from her past or whatever. Grown. Healed. Etcetera. But she’s here with her jigsaw leg and her idiotic brain and she’s not better. And she doesn’t know if she ever will be.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She squeezes her eyes shut tight and presses into her forehead with her palms, digging her fingers into her scalp, tugging hard on her hair. This is not exactly what she intended for herself on December 31st, is it?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally, mercifully, her phone rings, and she picks it up without a second thought, happy to have anything to pull her out of her own head for even the briefest of moments.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello?” she says, trying her best not to sound as horribly distressed as she feels.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth, hello.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She could cry. She is crying. Because on the other end of this call is the voice of the only person in the world who can help her right now. The soothing sandpaper baritone of someone who knows her better than she knows herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mr. Brunner,” Annabeth breathes, relief washing over her so powerfully a fresh wave of tears pools in her eyes. “Thank <em>fuck</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs gently and Annabeth covers her eyes with her arm. Chiron Brunner, a former Team USA coach of 50 years, is the absolute best human being on the face of the Earth. And he could not have had better timing if his call had been planned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How are you, my dear?” he asks, and she doesn’t even think twice about her answer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everything sucks,” she tells him. “I’m a fucking idiot, just like always, and I got lazy, and I didn’t take care of myself, and now I’m suffering and everything hurts and—I’m a dumb stupid idiot bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He heaves out a deep sigh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No wonder I had that dream last night,” he mutters, and Annabeth laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crazy old man and his divine dreams. His dreams that are somehow always at least 75% correct, Annabeth reminds herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stops laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s slow down, shall we?” he suggests gently. “Start from the beginning. Why are you—what was it? A dumb stupid—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dumb stupid idiot bitch, yeah,” she finishes for him. She sighs heavily. “Well, as you know, I was really neglecting my health for a long time and…I decided to not do that anymore. Like. I’ve been so good about all the soaks and massaging and PT, you know? But then last week, I just…I got really tired because work has been so crazy. I just needed a break. But then the break turned into a week of bad habits and I just…I feel like I’m back exactly where I started and all the work I’ve done is for nothing, you know? Like, what’s the point of even trying anymore? I’m just gonna be miserable and in pain for the rest of my stupid life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mr. Brunner inhales a deep breath and Annabeth does her best to prepare herself for whatever might come next.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” he breathes, and she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” she agrees sadly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you remember the very first thing I ever taught you?” he asks, and she knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How to tie my shoes?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The second thing I ever taught you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The difference between a salad fork and—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Annabeth, in training,” he interrupts, laughing gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perhaps,” she mutters quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Might you do me the kindness of reminding me what that lesson was?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She mumbles into the phone and she can feel the flat look on his face from 3,000 miles away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come again?” he prompts, and she sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Progress isn’t linear,” she says, dropping her head back onto the couch. “I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It seems as though you don’t know,” he tells her. “If you had remembered correctly, you would never say or believe the things you told me earlier. Progress is not linear, my dear. The same goes for healing. They never will be. There will be times we improve exponentially, times we plateau, times we fall backward and loop around and drop so quickly we think we may never come back up again. But all the while what are we doing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Making progress,” she says. “We’re making progress as long as we don’t stay in the same place we were yesterday. We make progress every day.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excellent. You <em>were</em> listening to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles the tiniest bit, but there is still a nagging in her gut, in the back of her mind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s just…it fuckin’ sucks. It’s so hard, you know? Why can’t it be easy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” he admits. “I have found that most things in life, the things that are truly worth it, are usually the most difficult. There’s really no romance to it, is there? It’s excruciating pain and it’s sweat and it’s tears and everything in between. It’s awful. And it’s not something you can do alone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth quiets.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you have the support you need?” he asks gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods even though he cannot see her. Maybe she needs to remind herself, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If I asked, I would have it,” she tells him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you willing to ask?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She swallows, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am,” she says shakily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So why haven’t you? What’s standing in your way?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I don’t—it’s just another bad habit, isn’t it? Another thing I have to fight to get over. I thought I could do it, and I have before, it’s just—sometimes I get so stuck thinking the way I used to that I can’t remember what made me get past it, you know? It’s like I take one step forward and two steps back. I feel like I can’t win.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you know what my favorite way to challenge my old thought patterns is?” he asks, and she knows his question is rhetorical, so she stays quiet. “To prove myself wrong.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How do I do that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Call them. Any one of them. Any single person you trust, and who loves you. Pick up the phone and ask for help. Prove to your old self that your new self is right. It shouldn’t be hard; you love being right.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs a bit and wipes at her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everything’s easier when you turn it into a challenge,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course it is. You can take the girl out of the Olympics…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles widely, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I resent that,” she says. “Even if it’s true.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs a bit, and she purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s scary, I guess,” she says. “Moments like these. I think it’s because I spent so long fighting my old habits that the second I even come close to falling back into them I panic, I spiral. I’m so scared of becoming that person again, Mr. Brunner. I hated that person.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe that’s the problem,” he says, and she knits her eyebrows. “That hate that still exists within you. You have no reason to hate who you used to be—you were just a child, Annabeth, and you were taught to think and behave a certain way. You don’t have to hate who you are; that hatred is born from a deeper place within you, from shame. You don’t have to feel ashamed anymore—you’ve grown, you’ve learned, and you’re fighting to be better. You have to forgive yourself. You have to accept who you used to be, not try to hide it, or beat it. You were a human being then, and you’re a human being now. You were never infallible, and you never will be. Accept that you did what you had to do to get through the life you were forced to lead, acknowledge how you struggled, and forgive yourself. You were Annabeth Chase then and you’re Annabeth Chase now. The only difference is that you’re four years older, four years wiser. You’ve had time to learn from your mistakes. There’s no shame in that growth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was Annabeth Chase then and she is Annabeth Chase now: a sobbing, snot-ridden, tear-streaked mess. She feels his every word down to her bone marrow, making her ache in a way she didn’t know was possible. Because she wants so badly to be able to follow his advice, wants it like nothing else in the world. And she knows that he is right, that this is what she must do—she <em>knows</em>. But she also knows that it fucking hurts, and that the task itself is much heftier than the theory.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everything is more difficult in practice, it seems. But she’s always known that, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you gonna tell me—that I have to-to call my mom or something?” she asks instead of acknowledging how right he is just yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scoffs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “You’re trying to heal, not be traumatized all over again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles slightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not going to happen overnight,” he tells her gently. “Nothing ever does. But we take it slowly, little by little. We take baby steps until one day we look back and see how far we’ve come. And we start as soon as we can, so that day can arrive as quickly as possible.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll try, I will,” she promises.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pauses, her eyebrows furrowing together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess I just—I wanted to do it right from the beginning, you know? I expected better of myself,” she mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s no better or worse when it comes to this; there are only people who are doing their best. You’re not in the competition anymore, Annabeth. You’re just living your life for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knits her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why can’t I be in a competition with myself?” she asks indignantly, and he laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nobody said you couldn’t,” he says, “I’m telling you not to compare yourself to others. Not to compare yourself to whoever you were, <em>wherever</em> you were, before you were injured. That’s not fair to anyone, is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Damn him, he’s good.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I suppose not,” she mutters. “But I do think it’s worthwhile to look back at how far I’ve come in terms of work and my mental health.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me about that, then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well for one thing I’m not so miserable anymore,” she admits, and he hums. “I’m doing what I love because <em>I</em> want to do it. I’m taking things slowly and figuring them out as I go. And—and I have friends, now. Real ones. Good ones. The kind I think might be in my life for a really long time. People I trust.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s wonderful,” Mr. Brunner says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. And I have work, and I love it, even though it’s really demanding. It’s my dream job. I literally am doing my dream job, and I’m doing it <em>well</em>, you know? It’s kind of unbelievable.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me more.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She opens her mouth to speak but then realizes what’s going on, and she narrows her eyes, wishing he was there in front of her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You sly bastard,” Annabeth says, and he laughs brightly. “I know what you’re doing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean,” he laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, okay. Making me realize how far I’ve come.” She clears her throat. “Progress is progress is progress,” she mimics, deepening her voice to sound like him. “Fuckin’ snake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well do you at least understand, now? Do you hear yourself? Are you really, truly listening?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily through her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I do. I am,” she admits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. You’d do well to remember all the things you’ve just told me, especially on days like this. Days when everything feels too much to bear.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth wipes away the last remnants of her tears and nods despite the fact that he cannot see her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, Chiron,” she says quietly. “I really did need this today.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wish you would have called me first,” he tells her earnestly. “We can’t always rely on my sixth sense for these things.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll do better,” she tells him. “Promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. Now hang up on the old man and call someone you love. Time to start rubbing all your hard work in the face of those old, ugly thoughts, hm?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm, indeed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you ever need anything—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. I’ll call. Bye, Chiron.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Goodbye, my dear. For what it’s worth, I am incredibly proud of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her throat tightens suddenly as her vision blurs all over again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please don’t say shit like that to me when I’m already emotional,” she chokes out, and he tries to cough back a laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, terribly sorry—I’ll go now. Take care of yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hangs up and she is left with more to consider than she had to start. She supposes that’s a good thing, considering she has a way to organize her thoughts now, a process to go by. Everything is easier when you can sort things into categories, tuck them away in boxes and approach them strategically. There’s the <em>forgiveness and acceptance</em> box, the <em>stop being a dumb bitch and comparing your uninjured-self to your peak-condition-self</em> box, the <em>go call your friends you dumbass</em> box, and her personal favorite, the infamous <em>progress isn’t linear</em> box.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She moves through her thoughts in cycles, going so far as to write it all out in her sketchbook, 3D crates included. By the time she is finished, the clusterfuck of intrusive thoughts from earlier has been sorted through and organized so beautifully she can physically feel her head clear, as if a tiny person has gone into her ear with a vacuum and sucked out all the dust and clutter that had been driving her crazy earlier.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She comes to three conclusions, similar enough to the last time she attempted to get her shit together. Firstly, it is high time she starts down the difficult path of accepting her mistakes, accepting who she was before the fall. She knows that if she cannot find it in her to forgive herself and move forward, she will be stuck on this couch crying every other week for the rest of her life. It will take time, she knows, maybe much more time than she has the patience for, but it’s necessary if she truly wants to heal.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Secondly, all that quality forgiveness must extend to her present self, because as much as it pains her to think, healing <em>isn’t</em> linear, and she is going to fuck up, probably more than once. But she needs to start reminding herself, start <em>forcing</em> herself to recognize that fucking up is all a part of the process. What matters most, she knows, is that she is doing her damn best, and her best is all she can give. So she will pick up where she left off, will continue to take care of herself, to listen to her body. One bad week will not undo all the work she has put in, no matter what the acute, nearly-electrifying pain in her leg is telling her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lastly—and this is quite possibly the easiest task of all—it is time to tell Reyna she will be taking off of work for the next two days at least, because although she loves her job, she will not let it run her ragged any longer. She did not sacrifice everything for her dream job only to let the job itself be her downfall; this is bigger than her nagging need to be perfect, to work until everything is exactly as she imagined it. It’s time to do better, not only for her health, but for her happiness, too. It’s time to focus on what comes after survival, to realize that she has so much more life left to live.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And she really, truly intends to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But first she is going to have a nice, long soak in the bath and eat so much ice cream her brain freezes solid. She’s meant to be listening to herself, after all. Why not start here?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a full day of shopping through different furniture outlets, Percy begins to kind of regret his decision to ask Piper for help with his home decor. He’s not ungrateful, not in the slightest, it’s just, well—she can become a bit hyper-focused, hone in on a goal and not let it go until it is seen through to the very last detail.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which is why they are at their sixth store in three hours, and they have not yet found a couch that “speaks” to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy collapses onto the first one he sees—it’s large and plush, stitched with dark blue cloth, almost the perfect size for his space. He sinks right into it, and it is so comfortable he thinks he might fall asleep on the spot. He opens his mouth to make a suggestion and Piper holds up her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Absolutely not,” she says, and Percy pouts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s so comfy,” he tells her. “Please. I’m so tired.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel plops down next to him and snuggles up into his side, maneuvering her way under his arm. She is just as exhausted as Percy is, if not more; she stayed up far too late last night studying for exams that aren’t even happening until mid-March. Annabeth is on the other side of the store hunting for a dresser set that will match the bed frame they found him three stores back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ooh, yes,” Hazel sighs. “Pipes, this is like—my God, I could float on this cushion.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s hideous,” Piper says, hands on her hips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nuh-uh!” Percy protests. “I like it. It’s—good. Comfy. Cozy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It doesn’t exactly fit with what I had in mind,” Piper tells him in a gentle tone, the one she uses when she’s about to “strongly recommend” something. “I would really recommend—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Recommend, shmecommend,” Hazel says dismissively, waving Piper off. “He loves the couch. Let him have it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy,” she begins in that tone, and he sinks deeper into the couch, “I really think you should consider every option.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s—ugly? What part?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The color. The fact that it’s rough fabric, not leather or—I mean, honestly, I’d even take microfiber at this point.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What if—we ask. About different kinds.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper tilts her head in consideration.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wouldn’t hate a dark brown, actually,” she says thoughtfully, then picks up the tag. “It’s a great shape, and—hm, these measurements are actually perfect for what we found for the first wall, adjacent to the door.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy throws his arms up in the air.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Woo!” he exclaims, garnering the attention of passersby, and Piper smiles slightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is the first time you’ve been excited all day,” she tells him, then collapses on his free side. “Oh, fuck, that’s good. Okay. Fine. Yeah, we’re asking about this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles at her smugly and she flicks him in the forehead. He just smacks a kiss onto her cheek and she sighs and wraps her arm around his neck, playing with his hair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So I have some news,” she begins, at the same moment Annabeth comes walking over excitedly, her eyes wide and bright.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy is definitely not thinking about how beautiful she looks, or how helpful and considerate she’s been all day, or the time she laid down next to him while they were at the mattress store and her hand had brushed against his not once, but <em>twice</em>. Although the day started off a bit awkwardly, as time passed and they became used to their new dynamic, they really did fall into it quite easily. It feels natural again. Natural with a bit (a lot) of self-control, but natural nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I found the most beautiful set!” she exclaims excitedly, then stops. “Oh, this couch is awful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Soft</em>,” Percy insists.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate how comfortable it is,” Piper admits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel pats the cushion next to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Park it, bitch,” she says, and Annabeth laughs a bit despite her reluctance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All three of them watch her as she sits down and her cautious expression morphs into a look of absolute bliss in a second.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, shit, that’s good,” she says, and Percy pumps his fist in the air victoriously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck yeah,” he says, feeling rather proud of himself, and Piper rolls her eyes at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well I’m glad you at least gave us some input today,” she tells him. “You’ve been a bit passive in all of this. Don’t you care what your space looks like? I mean, it’s yours. Totally and completely.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs heavily through his nose and stares across the floor at a bunk bed shaped like a treehouse. He wonders what Piper would say if he suggested it for himself, nearly smiles until she tugs on his hair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Earth to Percy,” she says, and he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno,” he mutters. “I care, I just—I wanna be comfy. I want it to be easy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, you’ve said so multiple times. Is that honestly the only thing that matters to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He swallows and nods again, does his best not to think about what they’ve been putting off. The one piece of furniture he hasn’t brought up and that he hopes Piper will leave alone for now; he’s not ready to part with everything just yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I think we’ve done a great job today,” Hazel says, stretching her arms over her head. “Can we go home now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Percy tries as Piper says “no” so firmly Percy and Hazel both pout at her like chastised children.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Percy repeats, doing his best to sound just as firm as Piper.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She narrows her eyes at him and he does his best to look as innocent and broken-down as possible so that she might take pity on him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine,” she sighs, and his smile nearly splits his face in two. “But first we see the set Annabeth picked out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They look over to the right to find that Annabeth’s head is tilting forward as she dozes off. Percy smacks his hand over his mouth as Hazel laughs brightly, startling Annabeth awake. She shakes her head hard and looks over at them, her eyes glazed over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’d I miss?” she slurs, and Percy does his best to bite back his smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re pathetic, the lot of you,” Piper declares as she stands up and hauls Percy to his feet against his will. “Come on, Miss Olympics, you’re up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth blinks rapidly and nods, pushing herself up to her feet as she shakes her head a few more times. Percy reaches his hands out to Hazel so that his eyes will not linger on Annabeth as she stretches her arms above her head, adorable and tousled and fucking perfect.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hates himself, just a little bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth leads them over to the dresser set, all dark mahogany and black iron handles with some sort of armor-shaped backing. It really is beautifully made, with its clawfeet and intricate finish. He smiles warmly at her from where he stands behind Hazel, resting his chin on her head, and gives Annabeth two thumbs up, to which she takes a bow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love it,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He moves over to the dresser to run his hand along the top.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s—perfect.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You really think so?” Annabeth asks, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy nods emphatically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You did good, kid,” Piper says, throwing her arm around Annabeth’s waist, and Annabeth beams proudly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, thank you very much,” Annabeth says graciously, then pauses. “Not to brag or anything, but I was hand-picked by the owner of the apartment to help out with the furniture hunt, so—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” Piper laughs, shoving Annabeth away from her, and Percy laughs from his belly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, now that we’ve seen the set,” Hazel begins, and Percy smiles widely, knowing exactly what to expect, “do we think we can perhaps eat something before I wither away to nothingness?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper rolls her eyes to the ceiling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Children,” she sighs, and Hazel scowls at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll kill you,” she threatens, and Piper grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d like to see you try, munchkin.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re only two inches taller than me—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m definitely a solid five-six, actually—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My ass you’re five-six, you’re five-four at best—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Both short,” Percy cuts in. “Shut your—fucks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth seems to be doing her best to suppress her smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut your fucks—?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “You, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She flips him off and he blows her a dramatic kiss which she pretends to dodge. Piper rolls her eyes despite the small smile on her lips and Hazel tugs on Percy’s arm, begging him to get a move-on so that they can eat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time they make it back to Percy’s empty apartment, food in tow, even Piper begins to feel the exhaustion of their day set in. She plops down onto the hardwood floor of what will become his living room and everyone circles around so they can have their meal together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There are a lot of great things about the apartment, but what he loves more than anything are the windows. There are so many, and they’re <em>massive</em>, letting in so much natural light Percy won’t have to worry about electricity until sundown. Now, at sunset, the room is bathed in a deep orange glow, and he does his best to keep his eyes off of Annabeth, whose back is to the windows. Her curls are lit up from behind, looking as though they’re ablaze, and he wants to reach out and tug on one just to watch it bounce back into place, like fire in motion. The urge is so profound that his chest begins to heave, and he thinks he might die here, with the one thing in the world he wants more than anything so far out of his reach.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He decides to stuff his burrito into his mouth and train his eyes on her outstretched leg to stave off the impulse, and he pokes at her ankle with his toe gently. She looks at him as she takes a large bite of her taco and Percy thinks she's quite possibly the most perfect human being alive, mouth full of beans and all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” she mumbles with her mouth full, and he grins widely despite the aching in his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pretty,” he tells her, and she opens her mouth to show him all the mush inside. “Gross bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dweeb,” she says, then swallows with a grimace, as though it’s causing her pain. “Ugh, sharp chicken.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How is it?” Percy asks her, tapping her shin with his foot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Delicious, how’d you find this place?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” he laughs. “The leg.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs through her nose and examines her taco as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I kind of—I was bad about taking care of it for a while, but I’m working on it, so.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Was today okay?” he asks. “Is it too much? Are you okay? Do you need—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, Percy,” she laughs. “Relax.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He does not relax.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you sure? Really, really? Like—really?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes and then holds his gaze, gives him a very serious look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really, really. Don’t worry about it, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He purses his lips but relents, nodding a bit, and tunes into Piper and Hazel’s conversation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean the furniture’s all done but we still have real decor decisions to make,” Piper says. “That’s the really fun part.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will be having at least a 50% say in the decor,” Hazel says, and Piper rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re moving upstate, little girl, you don’t get an opinion here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knows immediately that that was one of the worst possible things Piper could have said, even before he watches Hazel’s face pinch inward as she grips her wooden fork so hard that her arm starts to tremble. Percy reaches over and pries it out of Hazel’s hand, and she crosses her arms over her chest in a huff. He shoots Piper an alarmed look, shaking his head almost violently. Piper casts her eyes downward and takes a bite of her food, obviously unaware that she was hitting a rather sore spot for their younger friend.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“These tacos are fuckin’ delicious,” Annabeth says a bit too loudly, and Percy nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm,” he agrees. “Rue—she found the place. One of her friends—he’s the cook.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well kudos to him, this shit hits.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth glances quickly at Hazel, then shrugs at Percy with wide eyes as if to say <em>I tried</em>, and he smiles a bit and taps his own nose twice. Piper clears her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The burrito’s really good, too,” she says. “How’s the jackfruit one, Hazel?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel stuffs a giant last bite of food into her mouth before she wipes off her hands and grabs the empty bag from next to her to use as garbage, mumbling out a short, garbled response. Percy watches her warily, knitting his eyebrows in concern.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ve had a total of two conversations about Hazel’s inevitable move to the Finger Lakes in August, and each time it has been very superficial—what the area will be like, if she’ll be able to make friends, how much different it’ll be from the city. They are yet to have the Big Talk, which Percy has realized is becoming increasingly more necessary as time moves on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knows for a fact she feels awful about leaving, knows that she is far more worried about being away from him than she lets on. But he’s given her her time, hasn’t wanted to push her to talk about it—it seems that now though, as she picks up imaginary crumbs from the floor and tries to busy herself with tidying up the totally empty space, he will need to take the first step.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hazy, let’s find—trash,” he suggests, and she nods silently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper shoots him a tortured look as he stands to follow Hazel out, but he waves his hand dismissively in an attempt to quell her guilt. She hadn’t meant any harm, after all—Hazel can be very closed-off with her emotions, especially when it comes to the more difficult ones. There was no way for Piper to know how Hazel was feeling; if Percy hadn’t spent nearly every free moment of his life with her since he was four, he might not have figured it out himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once they find themselves outside Percy wraps his arm around Hazel’s shoulders and they walk around the building to look for the dumpsters. Percy knows for a fact they are down at the end of the complex’s parking lot, but he steers Hazel in the opposite direction.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” he says as they walk along, and she sucks in her lips. “Tacos, huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel stops walking and pulls away from Percy just to give him a flat look, and he places his hands on her shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re gonna talk,” he informs her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s nothing to talk about,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolls his eyes so hard it takes a full five seconds for them to come back to normal, and Hazel purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re sad,” he says, and she crosses her arms over her chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Am not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Percy, I’m not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So what the shit?” he says. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel guilty, okay?” she tells him, shrugging his hands off her shoulders. “I feel guilty for leaving you and I never thought that I would be the one to do it. I thought it would be you. I thought you’d become an Olympian and like, get super rich and move to fuckin’—I don’t know, Australia or something. I thought you’d get the hell out of here and you’d have to live with the guilt and I would be the one who stayed behind but now—” She swallows. “Now it’s the opposite, and I hate it. I hate that I’m gonna be the one leaving you. It was supposed to be the other way around. You’re the older brother. You’re supposed to fly the nest first. It shouldn’t be me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows in confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The fuck?” he says, and Hazel huffs out a breath and sits on the curb, hugging her knees. “What—I don’t—what do you mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean,” she begins, a bit more slowly, “that we’ve been together since I was two. We’ve literally been attached at the hip for 22 out of my 24 years on this Earth. That’s like—that’s fucking <em>madness</em>, Percy. The longest we’ve ever been apart was two weeks when I was late to the Olympics that time. That’s <em>it</em>. And it’s like—I feel like I’m breaking up our family, or something. And I just—I just kind of thought that being apart would be easier if you were the one leaving.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because it’d be out of my control,” she mutters. “But now it’s all my fault. I’m a home-wrecker.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy frowns, knitting his eyebrows, and takes a seat next to her. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her into his side, and she rests her head against his shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s nobody’s—fault,” he tells her. “People have to live. They gotta do shit. Work and learn and—stuff. Sometimes to do it…they have to leave. And you have to go. It’s okay to go. It’s normal.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” she tells him. “I know it’s normal. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy furrows his brows and takes his arm back so he can hold her tiny hands in his large ones. He squeezes them three times and she returns the gesture immediately, then turns away from him slightly. He hears her sniffle and so he pulls her into a hug, crushing her into his chest. He feels few tears start to wet his sweater but he just squeezes her tighter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who’s gonna give me attention up there?” she asks, her voice thick. Percy grins widely. “How am I supposed to come home from class and fling myself on the couch without you there to call me a brat and then feed me dinner? It’s just not sustainable.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can still—do it. Call me before. I’ll do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can’t make dinner through the phone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll order.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not the same.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs heavily and rests his chin on her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s not,” he admits. “I’m gonna miss it, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See? You’re gonna be heartbroken without me, and it’s all my fault. I’m tearing up your heart like I’ve torn apart this family.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rolls his eyes and pulls back from her to look her in the eyes. He holds her gaze firmly and wipes away her stray tears, then flicks her in the forehead hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey!” she exclaims, rubbing the spot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop being—dumb,” he tells her. “It’s not your fault. There’s—no such thing. It’s just—school. It’s moving. Our family is gonna be fine. We’re <em>family</em>. There’s nothing—nothing can—break it. It’s what family <em>is</em>, you dummy. It means we love each other. Always, no matter what. No matter where. So shut up. Guilt is stupid. You’re stupid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pouts and he frowns until a thought comes to him, and he grins.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you smiling? How could you call me stupid while I’m crying and then smile, you monster?” Hazel demands, and Percy grins even wider.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not leaving first. I am.” She knits her eyebrows. “I’m leaving. We’re in fuckin’—<em>Long Island</em>. I left first. Not you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel raises her eyebrows, obviously invested in the idea, but then her expression falls.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s too close to home, it doesn’t count,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy scrunches up his face, cannot understand why she is doing her best to stay upset, why she will not let him help her. His frustration gets to him and he shoves her so hard that she falls over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck you, then,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh—fuck <em>you</em>!” she exclaims, then tries to tackle him down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t manage to push him over but she gets a few solid whacks in, including a smack to his nose, and he groans and pushes his hand into her face to hold her away from him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Brat,” he grumbles, holding his nose with his other hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bitch,” she mumbles against his palm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me why—you’re sad!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel like I’m going to miss out on all your lives!” she finally admits, and Percy drops his hand down to look at her. “Are you happy now? I don’t want to be the one who leaves because I’m not just leaving you. I’m leaving everyone. I’m leaving Nico and Will and my mom and Sally and you’re all going to be together and I’m going to be all alone. I don’t want to be left out like that. It’s literally my worst nightmare; you know my love language is quality time, and if I’m away from you all while you’re gathering together I’m gonna lose my shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why didn’t you—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because it’s so selfish,” she says. “Like, <em>I’m</em> the one who’s going, so I shouldn’t get to bitch about it. I made this choice, it was my decision. And I’m complaining now that it’s happening? That’s selfish.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not selfish,” Percy tells her. “It isn’t. You’re allowed—to feel it all. You’re allowed. You can choose something and—and still—feel sad about it. Or wish stuff was different. Or whatever. It’s okay, Hazy. It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs heavily through her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know that intellectually,” she mutters, hugging her knees once more. “It’s hard to like, actually listen to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everything’s easier in—your head,” he says. “But it’s why we gotta try. To make it easier—outside, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rests her cheek on her knee so she can face him and she looks defeated, like a kid just doing her best to get through whatever might come her way. He squeezes her nose between his knuckles and she scrunches it up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it why you were angry? At Piper?” he asks her, and she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. I want to be a part of this for as long as I can, you know? I don’t want you to like—forget me or whatever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gives her a flat look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will <em>never</em>—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” she says quietly. “I know. I’m just—I know. It’s like I said. I’m just gonna be so far away, and it’s gonna be hard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods and leans his chin on her shoulder, and her dark hair tickles his nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m here,” he tells her. “I’m here now. You, too. We’re gonna do it together. Promise. ’Kay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sounds like—fear. A lot of it,” he mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am scared,” she admits. “I meant everything I said before, too, it’s just—it’s so much. I have so many thoughts in my head and so much to worry about and I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t even think about next year without freaking out like this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So we do a little,” he says. “One thought a time. One day. It’s not—all at once. We have time. We’ll go slow. Figure it out together. Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bumps his forehead against her shoulder twice and she tugs on his ear the same way as he sits up straight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Remember—right after he left?” Percy says, and Hazel looks up at him thoughtfully. “I was still—I didn’t talk a lot. And I kept getting nervous ’cause—people suck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel nods and sits up, wrapping her arms around her middle.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You and Pipes—you kept saying it doesn’t matter. If people think it’s weird. How I talk. Or don’t talk. You said it’s dumb to worry—something so far away. Something out of my control.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel purses her lips and he smiles a tiny bit, leaning into her side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You were right,” he says. “But it’s not—remember what Pipes did?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel grins widely, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She chopped off a chunk of hair and told you that now people would be too busy looking at her to worry about you,” Hazel says with a massive smile. “And then she saw herself in the mirror and had a meltdown.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She kept it,” he says. “So long.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He purses his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Want me to shave my hair? So you can—stay busy looking at me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel smiles widely and rolls her eyes, leaning into his side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think we need anything that extreme,” Hazel says. “Maybe you just give me a kick in the ass whenever I get stuck in my head. Also, refer me to a good therapist. A Black woman, ideally.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods empathically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. We’ll do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel smiles the tiniest bit and rests her head on his shoulder, so he wraps his arm around her and squeezes her tight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a good brother, Percy,” she mutters quietly. “I don’t know how I got so lucky to have two.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fates wanted it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, maybe. They knew I’m the only one powerful enough to humble you and Nico both.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy laughs a bit and Hazel pulls back from him, grinning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna go in? It’s cold,” Percy says, and Hazel nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Feel okay?” he asks her as they stand and brush the gravel off their pants.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel a little better,” she tells him honestly. “I mean—I’m not gonna magically just stop being anxious about it, but I went from like an 8 to a 4, so I’d say that’s a win.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s go home,” he begins. “Eat ice cream. Cry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, that works; let’s do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they get back inside Piper stands immediately and looks at Hazel desperately, then starts talking so quickly Percy cannot process a single word she says. Hazel listens for a few moments before she holds up her hand and Piper quiets immediately, flattening her lips together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know a way we can settle this,” Hazel says, and Piper nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yes, whatever you want.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d like you to chop off half your hair and keep it that way for a week.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper scowls as Annabeth’s eyes widen in horror, and Percy bites back his smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can stay mad, bitch,” Piper says, and Hazel finally cracks a smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You looked so stupid,” she says, giggling. “You’re so dumb.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel starts laughing wildly, then, and Percy joins her as Piper frowns at them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Some people would say I was being a loving and supportive friend,” Piper says, and Percy laughs harder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dummy,” he laughs, and her jaw drops in offense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Back me up here,” Piper says, turning to Annabeth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth looks up from her phone and stands, then walks over to Piper and shows her the screen. Piper yells in outrage and Annabeth cackles like a madwoman, then shows Percy and Hazel what she showed Piper: Piper herself, post-breakdown, after she realized what she had done by giving herself the asymmetrical haircut. Her eyes are red and puffy and she is frowning, her cheeks tear-stained, her hair so ridiculously uneven that it looked as though she’d taken a weed-whacker to it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy and Hazel laugh even harder, then, and Piper yells at them all for being insensitive and ungrateful as she herds them out the door and back to the car. All laughter is forgotten as Hazel calls shotgun and shoves Percy into Annabeth to sprint for the passenger seat. Percy grabs onto Annabeth’s arm to steady her and asks if she is okay, but she’s too busy laughing and pointing at Hazel, who has somehow ended up on her ass next to the car.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened?” Percy asks, and Annabeth shakes her head, tears streaming down her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ha, ha, dumb bitch!” Piper exclaims. “That’s what you get!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate everything,” Hazel groans as she stands. “Fuck Long Island and its stupid uneven pavement.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Percy says as everyone finally gets into the car. “I live here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Congratulations on moving to a dirtier, more depressing New Jersey.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy reaches over from his spot behind Piper and shoves the side of Hazel’s head, laughing despite himself. Piper yells at everyone to shut up and put on their seatbelts, Hazel takes over the Aux cord, and Annabeth attempts to subtly stretch her legs across the small space in the backseat. Percy knits his eyebrows and watches as she winces and adjusts her knee brace.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stretch,” he tells her. “It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, I’ll be—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, shut up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grabs her left foot and pulls her leg up onto the seat gently, so that it’s stretched across his knees.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t care.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pauses and holds her gaze.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You care?” he asks gently, and she shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t want to be a bother,” she says quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scrunches up his face at her and pinches her ankle, so she kicks at him. At least she's comfortable enough to try and break his nose. It makes him happier than it should, really.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not,” he assures her. “Now shush. My favorite song.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hazel turns the volume up and as everyone sings along, off-key and deafening, it’s all Percy can do not to burst at the seams with joy. He has spent the day with three different people who love him in three different ways, who have given their time and energy to help him on his journey, to help him move forward. He cannot believe how lucky he is to have them here with him, making this next step infinitely easier for him; he doesn't think he would be able to do it without them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then he remembers all that they've done today, how many stores they visited, the amount of bartering Piper managed, the bedframe Hazel found him, the perfect dresser Annabeth chose, and he is certain: he would never have been able to do this without them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As they drive down the LIE, the sky a gradient moving from red to black with every warm color in between, Percy thinks back to a thread of gratitude lightening his load. He inhales deeply, lets the feeling sink in, lets it unravel as many tiny strings as possible until he has space in his stomach for more than just a shitty collection of knots and coils. Enough room for dessert, he'd say.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth wiggles her toes against his leg and Piper tries (and fails) to hit an impossible high note and Hazel does her best to dance as much as she can with her seatbelt on and Percy thinks that if things keep going the way they are, then maybe one day soon he'll even have enough space for a full dinner. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Annabeth attempts to mince garlic, Percy giving her meticulous instructions over FaceTime, she starts to really wish she had never offered to cook a proper dinner for her friends tonight. It is 1 p.m. on a Saturday; the sun is shining, the city is alive as ever, and she is standing at her kitchen island pants-less with her knee brace on, her hair falling out of the world’s sloppiest bun, and an apron over her old Berkeley hoodie.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hates it here.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After two and a half months of seriously dating the woman, Piper is <em>finally</em> introducing her girlfriend to Annabeth, Clarisse, and Reyna. Piper suggested a relaxed night at Annabeth’s apartment, as it seemed to be “neutral territory,” whatever the hell that meant, and like a fool, Annabeth had offered to cook.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>You</em>?” Piper had coughed, choking on her coffee. “<em>You’re</em> going to cook?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth had bristled at that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m a great cook,” she’d defended. “I cook all the time. I’m cooking. It’ll be great.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was the first lie she ever told her best friend, and it will be the last—she has royally screwed herself over in an absolutely irreversible way, and she has no desire to repeat her mistake in the future.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it’s fine. Or it will be—Percy is walking Annabeth through every little step of making a proper marinara for the homemade lasagna she’s making, and he will be walking her through every little step of making the vegetable filling, and the ricotta mixture, and the boiling the noodles part too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is so fucked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am so fucked,” she says, finally finished mincing the last garlic clove. “It took me like half an hour to mince 10 things of garlic. This is going to be so bad.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not,” Percy reassures her, and she grimaces at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Easy for you to say. You’re laying on your couch without a care in the world. You are decidedly removed from this impending disaster.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lemme come, then,” he says. “I’m right here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Annabeth exclaims a bit took quickly, and he quiets.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She immediately feels guilty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, I mean—it has to be me,” she tells him. “Like, I have something to prove, here. I need to do this on my own.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm,” he hums. “Okay. Fair.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods, grateful that he’s accepted her excuse, that he will not push the issue further. The truth is that if she has to watch him move around her kitchen and dice tomatoes like a professional and make the world’s most delicious lasagna while wearing her pink apron over the stupid soft sweater she <em>knows</em> he’ll have on, she will explode. She will explode, or she will kiss him, or she will throw herself out of her 50th-story window.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, no. He is not allowed to come over right now. Not when they’ve finally moved past the “ouch” stage of their not-breakup and have made it into the “ouch but we’re best friends again” stage. She can’t risk ruining all their progress; he means too much to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, so I have a shit-ton of garlic, and all my vegetables are ready, and we’re using canned tomatoes because—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You suck—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am not Gordon fucking Ramsey—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“D-def-definitely <em>not</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gives him a flat look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you here to make fun of me or to help me feed our best friends?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Both,” he says, and she very nearly hangs up on him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What next?” she asks through grit teeth, and she can tell he is doing his best not to laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Big pot,” he tells her. “Biggest one you have.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rifles around in her cabinets until she finally finds her Big Pot still in its plastic. She tries to remove it as inconspicuously as possible but it is too loud and Percy is too damn keen on embarrassing her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is—Beth—when did you buy it?” he asks, incredulous.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns around to face him, one hand holding the pot, the other full of shredded wrapping.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um—perhaps it’s been a while since I’ve properly cooked for myself,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s a while?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She purses her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure I got it at the end of college, not the beginning—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gapes at her and she feels her cheeks burning. She will not let this stupid beautiful gourmet chef shame her right now. She will not.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pushes back her shoulders and holds her chin up high.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What of it, bitch?” she says, and he bites back his smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s what I thought.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She manages to sauté some garlic in olive oil, then manages to add all the canned tomatoes and whatever other shit Percy tells her to throw in as well. He says something about adding a bit of sugar, and she knits her eyebrows at him. She now has her phone resting on top of her coffee machine, leaning against the wall so she can speak to him and use the stovetop at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sugar?” she says. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmhmm. Makes the tomatoes less—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stops talking and sucks in his cheeks, puckering his lips and squeezing his eyes shut tight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sour? Zesty? Acidic?” she suggests, and he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm. Trust me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She eyes her sugar bowl warily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Percy, I don’t think I should mess with all that,” she tells him. “I don’t trust myself to add sugar to marinara sauce. This is bad news.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy knits his eyebrows and shakes his head, obviously taking her apprehension quite seriously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” he tells her. “Promise. Find a little spoon. Tiny little.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods and does as he says, then shows it to him. He laughs brightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A collectible Froot Loops Sam the Toucan spoon that I grew uncomfortably attached to as a child and have kept with me since? Yes, yes it is.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sucks in his lips to stop himself from smiling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” he says. “Perfect. Take a little sugar—and add it. To the pot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She does as he says and stirs it around with her wooden spoon. Percy instructs her to taste the sauce and she does that too and—holy shit, it’s actually edible. More than edible, it’s delicious. And she made it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>am</em> Gordon Ramsey!” she exclaims, and Percy laughs again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Told you,” he says, and she beams at him. “You can do it. See?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is smiling at her so warmly, so openly, that she feels as though sunlight is bursting out of her belly. How he manages to be so encouraging, so fucking genuine at every turn is a mystery to her. But it’s one mystery she can appreciate for what it is, one she does not care to solve. Because that’s just Percy, after all; it’s who he is. Down to his very core, beneath everything else, all he contains is pure, unadulterated goodness. And that, she thinks, is worth a thousand Gordon Ramseys.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She almost lets the words slip past her lips, between her teeth. She almost says three syllables she has thought every second they have spent together since that January morning, almost lets them tumble out as naturally as exhaling a simple breath. But she bites her tongue, and she thanks him, and they move on to boiling noodles, because the second she says the words out loud is the second he says them back, and they will be stuck in a cycle of taking and giving time that has no end.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All she wants is to reach the end, to get to the part where she has grown and learned and is still learning and growing but is objectively in a much healthier place. The part where she can have bad days mixed in with the good and not cry about it on her couch to her mentor for an hour until he manages to help her salvage whatever is left of her rationality. The part where she can definitively say she took all those baby steps, and hey, look how far she’s come.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wants it more than anything in the world, but the only way to get there is to get through the shitty bits in the middle, and so she will shut up and salt her boiling water <em>zay il-bahar. Like the ocean</em>, Percy explains.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time Annabeth has fully assembled the lasagna, she feels about ready to collapse. She does just that, falling onto her couch. Percy tells her that when she’s ready to bake it she needs to set the timer for 45 minutes, so she jots it down, then curls up onto her side and shuts her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know how I’m gonna clean all that mess,” she says. “I think I’d rather die, honestly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop,” he says, half-laughing. “It’s why you have—dishwasher.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes shoot open at that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love being rich,” she cries, and Percy laughs and rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The whole process of cooking took so long that he left his house to run errands as he helped her. He is walking down the street, the sun shining on his face, and he looks even more disgustingly beautiful now than he did snuggled up on his couch earlier.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shuts her eyes so she won’t have to look at him, but his image is burned onto her retinas, and there is no escaping him. She supposes there never was, anyway, but that’s beside the point.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Take a sleep,” Percy tells her, and she smiles softly, her eyes still shut. “You did good. ’M proud of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grins wider and opens her eyes the slightest bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s that?” she says. “I’m beautiful and talented and I can do anything I set my mind to?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She expects him to roll his eyes at her or hang up in her face, but he just smiles that soft little thing that makes her heart do a gymnastics routine, and he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. All of it. More, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s not quite sure what to say to that, but her brain spits out the first thought that comes to her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m a farter,” she says, and he laughs a bit, knitting his eyebrows in confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You said more. So I’m telling you more. I fart, like, all the time; I’m always so gassy. I have a terrible temper, actually, even though I’ve been working on it. I’m impatient and neurotic and stubborn and a perfectionist and I refuse to do anything unless it’s done my way because I think I know what’s best all the time. Not to mention the acid reflux.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Percy grins widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You forgot—sore loser,” he says, and she scowls at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That too, I suppose,” she admits grudgingly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. I can—work with it. All of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She swallows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that so?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm. I think—when you care—it’s easy. Maybe a little annoying—you are annoying.” Her jaw drops in offense, but he continues on. “But worth it. ’Cause you’re my—my best friend. So. Whatever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She is left speechless once more, her heart fluttering so violently she can feel it in her throat. Who the hell does he think he is?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate you, you know,” she tells him, and he sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. Are you gonna—hang up—’cause you’re mad? ’Cause I’m so hot? And you can’t take it—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She does hang up, as a matter of fact, and she is most certainly not smiling like an absolute fool as she shuts her eyes to take that sleep Percy suggested earlier. She is definitely not thinking about him being proud of her either, because it does not matter, not one little bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Really. It doesn’t. She swears.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All that matters right now is cooking an acceptable lasagna with store-bought garlic bread and a pre-made salad because she is only one woman and she can only do so much.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cooking an acceptable lasagna turns out to be a nightmare, in the end. Annabeth placed it in the oven half an hour before her guests were due to arrive, but she’d immediately gotten distracted worrying about getting dressed and had forgotten to set the timer. So, when Clarisse and Reyna showed up, both of their arms full of aluminum serving trays, it had been in the oven for about half an hour, which Annabeth would have known had she checked the time rather than become focused on what they brought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s all this?” Annabeth had asked, and Clarisse had pursed her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing. Dessert. Just dessert,” Clarisse had said a bit too quickly, and Annabeth had narrowed her eyes at her friends.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you won’t mind if I just take a peek, then,” Annabeth said carefully, and Reyna had stiffened.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why ruin the surprise? Come on, lemme help you set the table,” she’d interrupted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth had been too bitter about the fact that Clarisse did not trust her to make an adequate meal to remember that very meal cooking happily at a heavy 400 degrees only 10 feet away from her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, as Piper and her new girlfriend arrive nearly half an hour late, Annabeth barely has time to take in Sienna’s appearance. She is just as tall as Annabeth, a stunning Black woman with smooth, dark brown skin and her hair shaved close to her head. Her posture is impeccable, which Annabeth notes gives her an air of confidence despite the nervous smile on her lips. Annabeth is about to welcome her in when Piper’s eyes widen and she points to the oven, where smoke is rising towards the ceiling rapidly. For a moment Annabeth does not understand what is happening, and then her brain finally catches up to the rest of her and she gasps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth rushes over to the oven and pulls the tray out, waving away the smoke as she does. All four women circle around her to see the damage and they tilt their heads at the charred nightmare before them in consideration.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s cooked,” Piper observes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Definitely cooked,” Reyna mutters under her breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do we think it’s edible?” Annabeth asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure I’ll love whatever you’ve made,” Sienna says, her voice light and smooth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper lets out a short, maniacal giggle, then slaps her hand over her mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s try to cut into it,” Clarisse suggests.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth hands her a knife and the second the blade comes into contact with the lasagna it makes a sound like a creme brûlée cracking. Clarisse purses her lips and tries again, but there is no use; it’s been burned to a crisp.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So I see there are some signature Clarisse La Rue trays on the counter—” Piper tries.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God!” Annabeth exclaims.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then she is laughing. She laughs so hard her stomach hurts, and then she laughs some more, and then Piper starts to laugh, and eventually everyone else does, too. She can’t believe she made it through the entire process of making a lasagna only to have it end so terribly. She can’t believe her anger is forgotten and she is actually grateful to Clarisse for bringing backup. She can’t believe that this is the first impression she is making on Piper’s unfairly gorgeous girlfriend, who would have gone hungry had it not been for Clarisse’s control-freak tendencies.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A lot is happening right now, is all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once the smoke clears and the lasagna is left to haunt the kitchen counter, Annabeth decides there is no use for pretenses and they gather around her living room floor, eating some of the most delicious French food she has ever had. She has her usual, fleeting <em>I hate this bitch for being so talented</em> thought directed at Clarisse, but her tastebuds override any real animosity she may carry in the moment. Besides, this time is meant to be dedicated to getting to know Sienna better, and Annabeth finds that she quite enjoys the other woman’s company.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s hilarious, first and foremost, and she seems to be able to receive Piper’s jabs as easily as she dishes them out herself. Apparently she loves to sew, and when she is not busy being a software engineer she makes clothes out of up-cycled materials. She’s also an avid cyclist and loves the outdoors, which Piper seems to have accepted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As long as I don’t have to scale any fuckin’ mountains, we’re set,” she mutters into her glass when Sienna mentions free-form rock climbing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sienna grins and kisses Piper’s knuckles and for the first time in years, Annabeth sees her best friend blush.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My God, you’ve made her shy,” Annabeth says, incredulous. “Nothing in the world can turn Piper McLean pink, but you’ve managed it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” Piper says, her cheeks darkening further, and Sienna smiles softly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s cute,” she assures her girlfriend, and Piper groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Babe, you’re ruining my street cred right now,” she tells Sienna under her breath, and Sienna laughs brightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper sends her girlfriend a sidelong glance, then kisses her quickly and hides her face in Sienna’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit, she’s gone soft,” Reyna says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Big soft baby,” Annabeth adds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck you!” Piper exclaims. “I’m so hard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarisse chokes on her escargot and Annabeth is suddenly grateful Leo did not join them tonight. Hazel either, for that matter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Later, once they’ve stuffed themselves to the brim and are in the process of resting their stomachs so they can move on to dessert, Piper helps Annabeth clear the dishes. They stand at the sink together in peaceful silence as they listen to Reyna and Clarisse telling Sienna how they met.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” Piper begins in an odd tone, “what, um—” she clears her throat, “what do you think of her, then?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth glances at her best friend to find that she is fidgeting with the fork in front of her, searching Annabeth’s expression nervously. It hits her for the first time that Piper didn’t just bring Sienna here for an introduction—she really does care about Annabeth’s opinion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Piper, I love her,” Annabeth says, and Piper’s eyebrows raise hopefully as she stands up on her tip-toes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth smiles widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, of course,” she tells her. “You can stop shitting yourself now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Too late, I already ruined the carpet.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth laughs and shoves Piper with her elbow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gross bitch,” she laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper’s grin turns contemplative, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you think—I mean, do you think she likes me as much as I like her?” she asks quietly, and Annabeth immediately sets aside what’s in front of her to face her friend head-on. “Like, what if I’m more invested than she is? I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it, Beth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I really don’t think you have to worry about that,” Annabeth assures her. “You obviously can’t see the way she’s been looking at you all night.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’s that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like you’re the only person in the room.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper’s cheeks tint pink again and she scrunches up her nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think so?” she asks, and Annabeth rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She adores you. The girl probably thinks you shit rainbows or something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper laughs brightly, then, and Annabeth grins and places her hands on her best friend’s shoulders, holding her gaze. She looks open and vulnerable and scared shitless and completely over the moon, too. She looks like a woman in love. Or like a woman on her way there, at least.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen to me,” Annabeth begins, “you are not more invested than she is. She likes you just as much as you like her. And if she doesn’t, she’s a fucking idiot. Because you, Piper McLean, are the best human being on the face of the Earth. You are everything good in the world, and you deserve all that and more. You are worthy of this woman’s love, do you understand me? Hers and anyone else’s. And I’m sure you’re not far from having it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper’s lower lip trembles and she swallows hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, just say you’ve been in love with me this whole time and let’s elope already,” she says, then throws her arms around Annabeth’s neck in a hug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you so much,” she whispers, and Annabeth squeezes her tightly, three times.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you so much, bitch,” Annabeth says. “And I’m so happy for you. She’s super fuckin’ hot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper pulls back, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Right</em>?” she whispers fiercely. “Like, how the hell can someone <em>look</em> like that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She literally is like a piece of artwork.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Her face is so symmetrical it makes me wish I was dead.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Piper pauses, then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can’t wait to go home,” she says, raising her eyebrows suggestively, and Annabeth shoves Piper’s face away from her own.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, get the fuck out of here,” she groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s the goal,” Piper sings, grinning widely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth flips Piper off and she laughs wildly as she makes her way back to her girlfriend. Annabeth watches as Sienna reaches out a fairly muscular arm and Piper takes her place at her girlfriend’s side, reaching up and kissing her gently. Sienna smiles warmly and kisses Piper’s forehead, then pulls her closer into her side, and Annabeth thinks her heart might explode for how adorable they are together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Annabeth cannot begin to describe how happy she is for her best friend, how much Piper truly deserves it. She meant everything she told Piper earlier—she is the best thing in the world, the best thing that ever happened to Annabeth, and she deserves to have every ounce of joy and love and care she puts into the universe given right back to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If the gentle look on Sienna’s face is anything to go by, then the cosmos are getting ready to pay their dues.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As the night moves forward and Clarisse, Reyna, and Annabeth do their best to embarrass Piper as much as possible, a familiar warmth fills Annabeth’s stomach, spreads through the rest of her. She loves these three idiots with every fiber of her being, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she cannot wait to watch as Sienna gets to know them better, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She remembers what it was like at first, being overwhelmed with the sheer amount of people around her, not knowing what to expect from them, how to act. She thinks back to Hazel offering her a place to sit and Reyna taking the first step to introduce her to Clarisse and Leo plopping down next to her to rant about the end of days and Percy calling her just so they could go on a walk together. None of them owed her a single thing, yet they all did their part to make her feel as included and important as possible, even if they didn’t know it at the time. And for that, she will forever be grateful. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While Piper, Reyna, and Clarisse begin a heated argument over who makes the better lava cakes, Annabeth catches Sienna’s gaze and rolls her eyes fondly at their antics. She smiles widely and shakes her head, and Annabeth considers the fact that it might be a good time to pay all the kindness she has been given these past few months forward.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she rises from her spot to move next to Sienna, she knows she will start here, now, with the woman who means the world to her best friend. It’s the very least she can do after all that Piper has done for her, so she will do it gladly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If it means she’ll have to whip out as many hideous old photos of Piper as possible, well—that's just an added bonus.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so I’ve increased the chapter count from 10 to 11. I was struggling to get through writing this chapter for a really long time because it was meant to be the last one before the epilogue and so much needed to happen, but as soon as I decided to space it out and add the 10th one I literally wrote 3 whole sections in like a week, so I am very happy with this decision. I think it’ll give more time for closure and tying up loose ends before we get to the epilogue.<br/>In terms of timing, I will not be writing at all during Ramadan, which begins next week. This means chapter 10 won’t be out until mid-May at the very earliest (so sorry). But I have like my favorite scenes planned out for that chapter, so I hope it’ll be worth the wait. Again, thank you all for your patience and your support! Stay safe out there!</p><p>((also I am heartbroken that the comments on the old chapter are gone @TheHippopoteneuse thank you for your kind words I appreciate you friend!!))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>